For the Batman who has everything
by Charlie Monroe in Hell
Summary: Summary: This story, like all stories worth telling, is about Batman. Or, rather, it's about the lack of Batman (Batmanlessness?) For, you see, this story dares to ask what would've happened if Joe Chill, the scumbag who killed Batman's parents, had instead received the knock to the jaw he so richly deserves.
1. Chapter One: A Chill-y Night

WARNING: I do not own Batman. Or, you know, any other DC comics character. I'm not sure if saying this means anything, like they can't slap me with a SLAPP suit, or if it's just tradition, but, hey, here it is.

Chapter One: A Chill-y Night

He took his son to his best friend's birthday party, it was white in the bottom and blue on top. They talked about girls and she unlocked the door with a Gold Key®. But every party has a party pooper, a yellow runt, yelling grunts, who brings the same gifts and eats all the food and makes you wish you were somewhere else, someone else.

It happened to Ulysses, and to Ulysses'.

But, that was in the past, when he was a grown man. Now, he's a child. He's a crimefighter, a creature of the night, clad in black, with a cowl covering his face. The terror of crime and corruption, his secret identity unknown to any but his trainer and confidant. He is Zorro.

He is Zorro as Diego fights and puts on his costume, he punches villains out of moving trains and cuts a mark on their bouffant shirts, which was the style of the time. He rescues the innocent and punishes the guilty, his eyes glimmer with black and white and grey and silver from the silver screen. He cuts Catherine Zeta Jones' dress, and she's topless, that's around forty five minutes, thirty two seconds in, but you don't see boobs because she has long PG-13 hair. Still, mom doesn't approve. Oh, mom…

Dad's there too, and he has a nice mustache, a bit like Zorro's mustache, and it seems like he fights crime too, he was dressed as a bat, but I'm not sure that's canon nowadays. He was bat dad and now people are out for blood, but the only blood he drinks is the blood he draws with a needle for tests and science-based medicine because he's a doctor. He's doctor Wayne, out on a night with the happy family. The pretty wife, the good son, who loves superheroes, but loves his mom and dad more because they're real heroes, and heroes are forever, or are they?

It's a chilly night, meaning a night full of Chills, and one of those chills is Joe. Joe is a gun for hire, but much uglier and lamer than you'd expect. He wears a cabby hat and borrowed a couple of chins from his friends to protect from the cold, but his heart is what's cold as he moves for the kill.

"Stop right there playboy" says Chill, scumbaggily.

"Easy there, we don't want any trouble..." dad diplomatizes. Doesn't matter, Joe Chill wants trouble. He wants to feel big, because he's actually quite small, if you know what I mean (tiny penis).

Joe's got a replacement, and he moves the piece to mom, says the pearls are real, they're real rich, the Waynes, real rich like rich Royals, but let's be real, real pearls can break and scatter down. Joe's a pig, so mom threw her pearls before him, he looks at them.

That's not usually how it goes. You don't throw your pearls before the swine, that's in the bible (dad's a Methodist or something) so she changed the script. Director says cut, but dad says uppercut.

Joe's eyes are eyeballing balls of oyster cancer, but the real cancer is Joe, so nothing's too bad for Joe, and dad takes a page of Diego's book and punches Joe right in the chins, which are chilled glass. Now you and I know criminals are a superstitious, cowardly lot, and the most superstitious, most coward of them is Joe, so when the tables turn he goes from assailant to (deserving) victim. Dad wails on him, something he's usually quite averse to, just ask young B.W., something he wouldn't do to a dog.

But Joe Chill is lower than a dog, lower than a cat, lower than bacteria and virii and neutrinos, so he gets what he deserves, not a necklace from the rich Martha, but a pair of metal bracelets from Lieutenant Gordon's collection, those will go well with his new metal toilet, back in jail. Nightmare's over. Bruce isn't Zorro, but dad is. Don Thomas, and now the Lieut is getting talky.

"I've clinched this guy lots of time, usually low level stuff, but it seems he's working for a syndicate this time, doc." says the copper-haired copper.

"Probably targeted me after I played hero at the natural museum costume gala." answered Doctor Dad.

"Could be, but Chill's the type of fellow who will talk the moment we threaten him with life." said Lieutenant Gordon. Should've threaten him with death, if you ask me. "Still, I think you could do with some police protection."

Little Bruce (which is me, right?) was scared and crying, but he knew one thing that night, and that's that his dad's a hero. If dad wears white during the day, he saves lives, and wearing black at night, he saves lives. So nothing broke, and Bruce was happy and proud. His mom held me tight and told him everything would be alright, and it was true because it wasn't a lie.

Lieutenant Gordon sent the three back to the mansion with patrol cars being the electrons to the Rolls Royce nucleus, and dad called a family meeting, featuring the help as supporting characters. He knew Bruce needed to take care of Bruce, and the cops couldn't be around forever.

But Alfred might've been a Pennyworth, but he was worth more than a penny. He used to wear a rat on his arm, and he knew guns, and it's never too early to teach kids.

"I say, sir, I must protest." Protested Alfred, but Thomas put his bat-foot down. Teach Bruce, said dad, hunt with him and train him, because my son won't be afraid of guns anymore. You're my best friend, and I saved your life with a grenade got the better of you, so now you save my son's life.

Not the best, but Alfred was the help, and the help helps. Just like in the movies.


	2. Chapter Two: Deadshot Begins

Chapter Two: Deadshot Begins

And train they did. Bruce trained, and Alfred trained...Bruce. They started slow, since Bruce was still a kid, but, you know how it is, after you see Zorro/your dad punch down a bad guy, the one thing you want is to follow in his footsteps. So, the best friend, the soldier, the butler, the brother-in-law (more on that later) becomes your son's mentor.

And if Alfred was a badass, he was sure to make sure Bruce's ass was even worse. They started slow, since Bruce was still a kid, but Alfred's slow is most people's fast. Bruce didn't train with ninjas or Mary Magdalene's husband, but Alfred's not your average special forces soldier. He's a special special forces soldier. Before being victimized by the shrapnel in the war, he was an O.M.A.C., you, see.

Alfred left the Pennyworth family a teen, deciding against being a butler, he was bitten by the bug – the acting bug, that is. The bug's acting was making Alfred want to be an actor, and he could've had a sir in front of his name if he kept up with it, despite his social standing. He taught Bruce all about dissimulation, lying and theatrics, about an actor's preptime, which Bruce took to heart, since he was kinda bugged about being jumped on the street.

Alfred heart wasn't into it, but he's always been more of a brain guy. He grew skinny after the war, but he had a life debt to Thomas who doctored his deadly wounds away. So, you could say Alfred went back to his old life because he owed life. To Thomas Wayne, I mean, the bat-dad.

Alfred taught. Workout regimens, as extreme as the boy's age would allow, turned the rich boy into a strong thing. People saw Bruce as Billionaire Junior, but he worked harder than most people who worked for a living. And it wasn't just push-ups. Martial arts were involved, with old buddies who were old trainers stroking their beard as they saw Bruce punch silicon dummies til his hands were deadly. Athletics, too, so by the end of it, Bruce could've been a honorary Grayson, one of those fliers from flyers you see. Circus was in town.

But, Alfred's specialty was guns. If it shoots bullets, no matter what shape, size and making, he knew all about it, and made sure Bruce would too. The boy would train in the manor's grounds, shoot all sorts of targets as if they're nothing but targets, with pistols, revolvers, shotguns, shortguns, machine guns, Machine's guns, rifles both elephant and human, bazookas and RPGs.

Bruce was a man, not a bat, so he wasn't blind as a bat but could see, and, you see, he did see, see very well. 20/20 vision. He could hit a womp rat from miles away. He was a deadly shot. So deadly, you know, you could even call him…

A redhead in the drawing room, her hair was red, and she wore a yellow dress that was yellow. Her skin was pale like milk and her hair was redder than anything else in the planet, so red in fact, you can't compare it, and kinky too. She gave the young master a curtsy because she was young too, and her hair was red, as was the blood they shared.

"Hello." Bruced Bruce. "I wasn't expecting a visit."

"You weren't expecting anything." said the redhead, gingerly.

"Have we met?" asked the Brucester.

"Maybe." answered the redster.

"Your name is Maybe?" he shot (but not with his guns).

"No, I'm your cousin, silly." said the girl, cousinly.

"Silly, that's a silly name." Bruce retorted.

"No, my name's not Silly." the girl threetorted.

"I didn't mean your name was Silly, I said you name was silly." Bruce four...torted?

"No, not silly, Kate." the redhead solved the mystery.

"My name's not Kate, it's Bruce." said Bruce.

"Bruce, Kate." Kate said.

"Stop calling me that!" Bruce protested.

"You got it, That." Kate post-tested.

Five years later, they lost their virginities to each other. Kate liked shooters, so much that she became one.

"My dad says you're an excellent shot." Shot Kate. Her dad, I guess, was uncle Bob. He was married to Kate senior, aunt Agatha, neé Pennyworth, who was grown in the same womb Alfred was, only a few years afterwards. Where did the ginger mop come from, we don't know. And so pale, too. Possible vampire? Must investigate further.

Other people might exist, but they're not important to this story.

He took the flag of Carinthia to the shooting range, where he was pressed to impress the pretty girl with his shooting prowess, he would go bang bang in the hopes he would bang her, if you know what I mean. She was paler than yogurt, peppered with red pepper for hair, but, still, pretty pretty. Bruce first crush, so show some skill, kid.

Bruce didn't miss a shot. Now it's the miss's time to take a shot at taking shots. She shot and each shot she shot went exactly on the same spot Bruce's did. She was as good as him! (Take a shot.)

Kate is a skilled shooter, you see, because Uncle Alfred was branching out his teachings. A girl has to know how to defend herself. And defended her self was. But she liked it so much, she was gearing to ape him and join the army as soon as she turned eighteen. I know what you're thinking, most billionaires prefer having other people do their fighting for them, especially with they're above average in the X chromosome count. But Kate was something special. And something red, too.

"I hope you're happy, sir." said Alfred. He was a big Jon Favreau fan.

"Of course I'm happy, Alfred." Enthused Thomas, clutching his doctor's bag because he was a doctor. "I just talked to Jim during one of the secret meetings all the people who wear mustaches attend."

"I am also privy to those reunions." said Alfred. He had a John Waters thing going on on his upper lip. Though Thomas' was more like Tom Selleck's (casting idea for the movie adaptation).

"So Jim said the Chill gang's scattered and dropping all over. We don't need to worry too much about our safety. Well, not any more than any other Gothamite." said Thomas. Gotham was a wretched hive of scum and villainy, even if the gates over Wayne Manor were tall.

"But what about young Master Bruce?" pleaded Alfred while holding a tray with tea and digestives, because he was a butler.

"Bruce's doing great. He's happy as a clam, no neurosis or nothing. He's even close to his mom, when at that age I hated my parents. They wanted me to be an Astronaut, but I was set on doctoring." said Thomas.

"Ah-ha." said Alfred, britishly.

"Take, for instance, young Victor here." Thomas pointed. Yes, there was a young Victor there. Did I not mention it? Well there totally was, so re-read the last scene with him in mind.

"Hey it's really nice to meet you." said the nerd.

"Victor's a med student, and married to a ballerina." says Thomas. "Tragedy struck, when she was struck with a rare comic book disease. A disease that had no cure. Heck, a disease that had no name."

"I'm sorry to hear that, sir." Alfred condoled the youth. But the story doesn't end there.

"So, Victor does what anyone with a thermogun would do in his position. He shoot his wife with a freeze ray, so she'll be in suspended animation until a cure can be found." Technological.

Thing is, Thomas is a doctor. And one of the doctor's job is finding cures. Especially really smart doctors. Smart enough to hoard billions. That's billions with a B, as in Batman.

"Since I am still alive, as opposed to dying somehow, I worked on a cure for Nora Fries' disease, Nora Fries disease." explains Thom. "I threw money at the problem until a cure showed up. Victor here" Victor was there "kindly volunteered the ice-ball-and-chain for the procedure. And now she's thawed and happy."

"I'm happy to hear that, sir." Said Alfred, politely as only people named Alfred can be.

"As am I." said Victor, who was one of those guys you just know would go crazy and start killing people with an experimental gun if his wife died. "Which is why I've gifted the good doctor the very device I used to put my wife in suspended animation." he explains. "And now she's fully recovered, with a job opportunity with the Bolshoi theater. We'll be moving to Russia and enjoying our lives for good, all thanks to the good doctor Wayne."

And no thanks to douchenozzle Joe Chill, who tried to kill Wayne and Mrs. Wayne in an alley after Zorro. But he's rotting in jail now, though he was rotten to begin with. What an unlikeable guy.

As for Fries' freeze gun, Thomas Wayne keeps it mounted on top of a bookshelf, containing the complete works of Anton Chekhov. (I had to google the spelling)


	3. Chapter 3: Deadshot continues to begin

If you're rich, they call it eccentric. So Bruce Wayne was the "eccentric" kid who was dating his cousin. And cousin Kane was the eccentric Kate who liked to shoot guns. He wasn't Deadshot yet, but he was gearing towards it for sure. And Katie? Deadshot Lady.

Having a large fortune sure makes things easier. Man, I sometimes think a hundred bucks is a lot of money. Like, I wanna buy a phone, and it's two hundred bucks? That' expensive, the thing's like five inches. Bruce Wayne? He can buy phone companies. That sort of thing can spoil a kid.

But, no, not Bruce. I mean, I guess he was headed in that direction before movie night. He was rich, he was spoiled, and he saw his dad and mom as two giant walking wallets. But then came the Chill. That Joe. If you don't hate him, there's something wrong with you. When Bruce's dad punched Joe off (after his mom distracted him with the pearl ploy) Batman – I mean, Bruce – realized Thomas was no coward. His money was old to Martha's new, but he hadn't grown fat and soft. Young Bruce knew he had to live his life twice as well as other Bruces, because it's a life his father gave, and a life his father saved.

The years passed and Kate grew cute. She was pretty, but became beautiful. Though I guess some melanin couldn't hurt. And that hair. Looks like someone set her freaking head aflame. She was weird, I guess, more interested in guns and military boots than in boys and heels. Only boy she cared about was cousin Bruce, who trained together under Alfred's tutelage, until the day they turned eighteen. That's when Kate headed off to the army.

"I'm going to miss you, cousin." said eighteen-year-old Bruce. "Try not to win the war by yourself."

"I'll miss you too, silly." Barely-legal Kate said, smiling sweetly with nostalgia-flavored eyes. "I'll have trouble finding someone who can keep up with me on the battlefield."

"Yeah." said Bruce. "And I'll have trouble finding someone who can keep up with me in the bedroom." he was referring to the incest they commit. Mom, dad, aunt, uncle and uncle had no idea. But Bruce did alright. Sure, his billions probably helped a bit, but he was handsome man. And skilled. Confident. Nice guy all around. Not a broody whiner, is what I'm saying. BECAUSE WHO'D HAVE BEEN INTO THAT AMIRITE?

Bruce was as handsome and confident as Oswald was ugly and awkward. So it makes sense they became best friends And roommates, who shared pizza and paper notes and college partied.

The university was Miskatonic, so they called it Miskatonic University. A.K.A. M.U. Go Dagons! (Bruce was a quarterback. Oswald wasn't.)

I dunno what miskatonic means either.

Bruce was a business major, since Wayne Corp was a business, and Mister Fox might've been fantastic, but Bruce still wanted to go CEO. It's not the Fox Corporation, you know. Oswald was a compsci major because of reasons.

I was informed that a writer's job is explaining to the readers the reasons for stuff in the story, so here it goes. A chapter-in-chapter:

The O-rigins of O-swald

Once upon a time, back when time was tyme, there lived a man who cobbled pots. His name was Cobblepot, though that's more of a chicken and the egg deal. Or, penguin and the egg.

You know, screw this, the egg came first. So, hm, back to Oswald. Later, the Cobblepot family became rich, like super-rich, and there was a Cobblepot named Andrew. He was rich in monies, old money monies. But he was poor in sense, which is why he married Natasha.

Don't get me wrong, Natasha was pretty. Pretty small. Pretty blonde. Pretty bubbly. But pretty crazy, too. When she got old, the pretty went away, and she was stuck with crazy. But let's not put the cart before the penguins. Natasha became heavy, and two hundred and seventy two days later, there was one more Oswald in the world. Little Ozzy Was Born.

Ozzy was...an odd child. Not really the skinniest boy in prep school, and his nose wouldn't look out of place in a medieval carnival. But, you know, I guess some girls are into that sort of thing. The dildo he carries everywhere, and he doesn't even need Viagra. (give it time)

His life wasn't the best, but, it wasn't the worst. Shy kid, chubby and awkward, but he had a dad to teach him about the facts of life, honesty and how to not become a psychotic gangster/nightclub owner. So Ozzy grew into Oswald. He grew taller, but not by much, and fatter.

Then one day, as Andrew was driving back from the pot-cobbling factory, under Heavy Rain®, his car broke down. Not emotionally, because cars don't have feelings, but like, a mechanical part. I should marry a car.

Andrew tried opening the hood, but he had no umbrella, because you never carry an umbrella around. Neville Chamberlain kinda ruined it for everyone. So he was soaked by the time he got to Cobblepot Manor.

He was so wet, he got sick. He was literally wet, but his wife was figuratively wet (in the british sense, not the american, so take your mind out of the gutter). After her dabbling in Orthomolecular medicine failed to cure the big man, the little woman grew crazier. This looks like a job for Oswald.

Using a technology called "the Internet", accessible through a device called a "computer", Oswald got in touch with an obscure physician who mentioned a disease that ticked all of dad's boxes. And off to the hospital the Cobblepots went.

There, Andrew (rich) was cared for by none other than Thomas Wayne, who, if you're paying attention has shown up previously. Thomas ran Thests.

"Though you might find it hard to believe, your husband suffers from a rare, but thankfully curable condition I call Nora Fries Disease." said Thom. "Luckily, I happen to be an expert on the subject."

So Doctor Wayne developed the scientific equivalent of a magic potion and quickly cured Andrew Cobblepot. He would have died without such an intervention.

(Note: You have to be alive to treat patients.)

Andrew was so alive to be happy, he donated a big chunk of his fortune to Thomas' hospital. Everybody wins. Including Andrews Oswaldian son. Because his brush with death made Penguin Senior reevaluate things. No more gorging on food and hiding in dusky offices with green felt things and those weird lamps you see in movies sometimes but never in real life.

Andrew, and his son, Oswald, went on a diet. Oswald became something of an athlete, if you can believe it. Nothing too extreme, playing baseball, gee that's better, and no need to hide behind umbrellas all his life.

Now since a computer helped save his life, he decided to become an expert in them. All that brainpower he'd otherwise use on ornithology-themed crime sprees and nightclub earnings embezzlement was directing at understanding how those wacky boxes tick.

That went all the way to college. Hence, Oswald the Compsi major. Won't shut up about Linux. You know the type.

/END Oswald backstory

So now you have it, Bruce and Oswald, the rich roommates. Dedshot and Linux for enemies. An Odd Couple at time, but that won't be played out so much because I never saw the movie. Their Miskatonic years were mostly uneventful, Bruce would go off shooting at home, and Linux would sometimes go off, jack off, shooting his semen into his girlfriend who sometimes showed up sometimes. That's right. Linux has regular sex and you don't.

But, drama is the source of all conflict, so things can't be happy all the time (tell that to Christopher Meloni). So, in the car of happiness driving down satisfaction road, Bruce would soon find a Dent.


	4. Chapter 4: The End of the Beginning of

TV Time! While DeadWayne, I mean Bruceshot, was out shooting things until they were dead, Linux watched TV. The Miskatonic dorm buildings were nicer and gothicker than most nice gothic houses in the real world, as opposed to this fantastic world where people dress up like bats to fight crime. Or, you know, don't, since Joe Chill is rotting in prison. Though, you know, he was already rotten on the inside. He has something else inside him now. (Prison rape. Hey-o!)

So Linux got a nice television into his dorm. Not because he's filthy rich, no, but because he was a technology enthusiast. He was watching it, his kitten on his lap, enjoying a well-deserved scratch behind the ear. It was the news, but the new thing is, they were new news. You know how it is, usually we get "fifty percent chance of rain by dusk, the economy's in the toilet."

They're changing it up. Vigilante hour.

"Now we have to deal with some joker." squawked Linux.

"I dunno, he seems alright so far." the kitten said, rolling over so she's looking at him. "Takes the law into his own hands."

"Not a good idea, my pet." Linux counter-struck "He's going to end up in a ditch."

"And you'll live forever?" the feline counter-counter-struck.

"What we have here is some guy who dresses up like a jester to beat up ganefs." said, Linux, explaining that the joker was some guy who dressed up like a jester to beat up ganefs. "Thing is, he isn't doing it out of the goodness of his heart. He's on the payroll of some other criminal org. He's no better than the baddies to who he does bad things."

"Seems legit." the kitten said, getting up and stretching in that weird way cats do. "Jokers are usually wild. I need milk."

Bruce came back. Or, I mean, I guess he was always there, since he should be the focus character. Or I dunno, Linux told him about the chat. Bruce sat on the couch, drinking Gotham-flavored beer.

"Where's your girlfriend?" he asked the Ozzster.

"She's watching some Sean Penn movie." was the answer. I heard Sean Penn loves hitting his ex-wives. Real dickfart. Kinda like Joe Chill.

"Well, I'm done being envious of you, you see, because my beloved cousin, Kate, is returning from Warlandia." Bruce boasted.

"Soldier girl?" asked Oswald/Linux.

"Exactly. I'm not sure why she's back so soon, however. Her tour shouldn't be done, not that I'm complaining." said Bruce.

"Maybe she won the war by herself." Not unlikely. I like the way that Oswald thinks. I think we'd get along.

I think I'd get along with all the characters in this fanfic, actually. Except Joe Chill. Fuck Joe Chill.

"I'm surprised you even have a girlfriend." said Oswald, but not in a douchey way. "You seem like the loner type."

"No, not all. Never let it be said that Bruce Wayne is anything but a family man. My father's an honest, hard-working man, the only difference is, he's a billionaire. My mother is loving and sweet, and quite milfy, though that's something I'll have to deal with in the later chapters. My cousin looks like a paper sheet someone set fire to, but she's the best person in the world." Bruce boasted. "Even my butler, who's married to my aunt Harriet, is a badass. I bet yo can't say that."

"I'm afraid I can't." Oswald shook his fathead. "My mother's sanity is hanging by a thread. They'll be shipping her off to Arkham at plot speed."

"I'm sorry to hear that, old boy." Bruce said, understandingly. "But you have a large life ahead of you. I could say I'm surprised you have a girlfriend."

That was probably because Linux was dantesquely ugly, fat like a comic book writer (fanfic writers are ripped btw), short like an experimental film, and balding prematurely.

"Me too. Long story short - " Linux said (short because he's short, get it?) "She fell for me when she tried to burglarize the place and I wouldn't call the cops on her."

"Why not?" asked the Bruce.

"Everything should be free." said Linux "So I kept her in my basement, I brought her saucers of milk and gave her a cardboard box to sleep in. She's been following me ever since."

Love wins.

"Sure, she pretends not to care about me and act independent, but if I spend a few days without paying attention to her, she's right back, meowing in my ear."

Are you still reading? Nothing happened so far in this chapter, so, uh, let's pretended they were talking about Issues.

"I'm more worried about this joker, Joker." Oz went.

"Sounds like a guy who likes to go clubbing." went Bruce. And he did, Joker, he went clubbing, but he clubbed people with his club, a marrote, with which he held discourse, fitting his status as an insane individual.

"I'm more worried about being more worried about Dent." Bruce said again. Yeah he went twice.

"What's Dent, some sort of Dentist?" asked Oswald.

"Yeah, a dentist of Blackgate prison. I mean, he helps the prison's teeth… get clean… by not eating criminals… which he let's go. Does that make sense?" Thing is, he's a prosecutor, but he's in the pocket of Big Crime, so he lets the baddies walk free. And Bruce has a problem with that. He's usually anti-baddie.

"Well, I can look up some evidence online. If Dent has any skeletons in his closet, I'll find it and expose it to the press." suggested Linux.

Skeletons, like, for example, sharing his first name with known invisible giant rabbit and sometimes Hollywood predator Harvey.

"You work on that, Linux, I prefer a more hands-on approach." Bruce said, meaning he would put his hand on Dent, i.e., punch him. In the face. But which one.

And then, a pretty redhead entered the room. And then, a pretty redhead entered the room.

"I think I'm seeing double." said Linux.

"My name's not double, it's Pamela." said Pamela. That was one of the girls. The other was our old friend Kate. Comeback.

"As I live and breathe!" ejaculated Bruce, opening his arms to hug the cousin. "Fancy seeing someone pretty like you here." I guess he was used to the supernatural ugliness of Linux. Compared to him, Steve Buscemi is handsome. Has he ever played a comic book character? I'll check it out later.

"Hey, Bruce, nice to see you too, Bruce." said Kate, hugging the cousin. "Meet Pamela."

Bruce met Pamela. Turns out, Kate hasn't experimenting with cloning, and Pamela is a different person with a different backstory. But, back to the backstory of Kate. She's out of the army, booted out. I guess it was a don't ask, don't tell deal. "Did you ask or did you tell?". She told. And she's telling Bruce now. Turns out Kate and Pamela are an item. There's some heavy tribadism going on. For more information, consult your local porn site. I believe the search term you want is "scissoring".

"You'd figure that's the closest she'll get to screwing herself without a time machine." Said Linux. More on that later. "I mean, she's having sex with someone who looks so much like her own self, it might be considered simply masturbation." You're the expert, Linux.

Bruce wasn't feeling dynamite. Not only did his girlfriend leaver him, she left him for a chick! And they weren't even related! Though you'd be forgiven for thinking otherwise.

Of course, this fanfic isn't named "For the whiner who has everything", so Bruce Batmanned up and kept the plot going. Their target was Dent. Deadshot had to become a superhero, somehow. Sure, his parents were alive, and looking pretty good too (I'm looking at you, mom. She must do pilates or something), but I guess you can take the man out of the bat, but you can't take the bat out of the man. Of course, Bruce isn't a pawn in fate's game, who only grew to be a crimefighter because of the tragedy that struck him when he was young.

Or, you know, didn't struck him. Joe Chill was the one who was struck that night.

What made Bruce the Bat was the memory of his M and P. But now the folks are here, so he doesn't need the memory to suckle on, he's got them 24/7. How could he be anything less than a superhero? This is the better Bruce, is what I'm saying. #GaryStu

? ﾟﾦﾇ? SUITING UP SCENE ? ﾟﾦﾇ?

Bruce wasn't one for studying in his study, because people change, so he never saw a bat crashing through the window. II don't even know why the fuck a bat would even do that, to be honest. Bats have sonar, right? It should know there was a window there. But, anyway, Bruce has no idea what bats are about. So he dresses up as...nothing? Just, the obvious. Black military pants, boots, a nice bulletproof vest, a bunch of guns, holsters all over the place, a knife. An utility belt with ropes, handcuffs, hidden mics, ballgags, a swagger stick and a SD card with an epub version of Venus in Furs.

The mask's just a ski mask, only with a covering cowl so it can't be removed in a fight. The eyes are also covered by high tech goggles, but badass sci fi ones, not obnoxious hipster crap like Google Glass. Not only do they have night vision, they can also overlay information directly to Bruce's brain, through a process called "seeing". Linux takes advantage of it to give Bruce whatever Data he needs in his adventures.

Kate, .A. Deadshot Lady, has a similar costume, only with smaller boots because she's a girl. Since her hair is a big longer, she prefers putting it in a Tomb Raider-esque braid, which she then covers with vynil to prevent some smartass from trying to get a DNA test. Heck, they can't even tell it's actually red. It looks fake. It just looks fake, you know, that always happens to redheads. Like, Alicia Witt. You're not fooling anyone. We all know that hair's from a bottle. What do you mean, you're a natural redhead? Well, then G_d got it from a bottle.

Still, I would wreck it like Ralph.

Mrs. Kate, that is, Pamela, is unaware that her cute girlfriend is a superheroine by night. She thinks she's just spending quality time with family. Not exactly a lie. Just her cousin. And it's quality crimefighting. Quality comics. I've seen that thrown around.

Kate and Bruce were the A-Team, and Linux was pretty much the backup. Tech support, in a way, but he also helped Bruce with all those tiny details you just can't keep in your mind 24/7. Like how to pick a lock. Or which one is Monet and which one is Manet. Monet did the water lilies. He (Linux, not Monet) was safely hidden in the WayneTech Tower basement, his fat ass sat on a swivel chair, as many computers as he wanted. An entire universe worth of information was at the tip of his flippers. He always said the world's like an iceberg, most of it is invisible unless you're looking underwater. So his little kingdom was his Iceberg Lounge.

He also had a little spy in his employ. A cute one, too. We both know who I'm talking about. His very own kitten, Kitten. She wasn't much for fighting, since she didn't exactly grow up tough. But she did learn how to hide and sneak as a child on the streets of Gotham. She's agile and silent. She can steal a giant diamond with her claws, just as easily as she can steal our hearts with that adorable look on her face. Just look at it she's so cute!

So that's pretty much Team Deadshot. They're ready to jump into action, but they'll soon find out they got more than they bargained for. And that's no joke.

They'll meet the Joker, is what I mean. That's what the end of the chapter implies.


	5. Chapter Whatever the last one was plus 1

Chez Dent. The Dent house. Where Harvey lives. Everyone named Harvey is evil. Harvey Weinstein. Harvey from Donnie Darko. Though I've never seen that movie. But, let's be honest, look at him.

Deadshot and Deadshot Lady make their move. The gate is locked. Amazing how his house looks exactly like Bruce's and Oswald's. Everyone in Gotham is either a billionaire, or a gangster in an alley. Bruce's ordeal, against Joe Scum, I mean, chill, was something that happens every night. Thousands of families going out for the movies, thousands of muggers shooting mom and dad in a back alley, thousands of Batmen. Except, not this time.

Deadshot, remember? Shoots the lock on the gate. They say that doesn't work, but he shoots it a hundred billion times, so the lock pretty much surrenders, so he and the redhead come in. He'd like to come in the redhead, if you catch my drift.

"You shot that gate like you had personal business to settle with it." said Deadshot Lady to Deadshot Sir (Bruce).

"The way I see it, my dear, there's nothing in the world that can be solved by the liberal application of bullets." said Bruce. e.g. Joe Chill.

The duo makes their way into the house. Linux had uploaded a blueprint of the place onto Bruce's goggles, so he knew where he was going. Also it made his eyes look cool and violent. He also used satellite data to gather info about electricity use within the place. Dent knew he was too important to go on without defenses, and he also knew gangsters. So, he had some muscle for hire.

Good thing muscle isn't bulletproof, so they were dropping like flies. It was like a fucking Peckinpah movie there. Though, I never liked him, not a fan.

Dent doesn't like it either, he tells the folk to shoot to kill. Kill Bruce.

"I wasn't expecting resistance." Bruce dodged.

"Sounds like our first night." shot Kate. Not at Bruce, at the bad guys.

"I'm out of bullets, I'm afraid." said Bruce, meaning he was afraid he was out of bullets. He wasn't afraid BECAUSE he was out of bullets. Thanks to his heterosexuality, Bruce wasn't afraid of anything. Not even bats. Though I'm getting ahead of myself.

I'd like to get ahead from Kate, if you know what I mean. It'd be like looking down and your dick's on fire. Except if feels good.

"Why don't they ever run out of bullets?" nagged Kate "Freaking fake difficulty. I had enough of that playing Mario Kart." Mario Kate. Just thought of that.

The couple of cousins retreated. Mafiosi are pouring out of the house, you could put meat grinders on the doors and solve world hunger. No way out. No joke.

Except yes joke. Yes Joker. The Jokopter came whoop-whoop-whooping down and the jester himself jumped out, Liefeldsomely. He was like lighting clad in brown and beige diamonds, about a diamond dozen on his chest. His legs were wrapped by black leggings, with beige curled-toed shoes, that to be honest offered no protection. His face was white and his expression was blank. The Joker never smiles, everyone knows that. He's got a cowl, don't you know, with a cockscomb cap and golden bells. He fights a dozen men, like a dozen men.

The Heroic Harlequin, for he was a hero that day, fought with a club, clubbing badguys. Or rather a scepter, so, he was scepting bad guys. The face in the scepter was identical to his own. White and dour, a long thin nose, a a bunch of mini bells dangling. That was his Marotte. His sidekick, kind of like a Robin to his Batman, except Batman doesn't exist. (FORESHADOWINGFORESHADOWING FORESHADOWING)Not yet (FORESHADOWINGFORESHADOWINGFORESHADOWING)

He chatted with Marotte while he made fast work of the ganefs. "Nice weather we're having." he said. Like a joke.

"You really are the Joker." said Death and Lady Stroke who were next to him all of the sudden.

"That's what the mirror says." said the Joker. "Who, if I may ask, are you?"

"I'm Deadshot. I'm here, assisted by my sidekick, to put an end to Dent's career of crime." explained Deadshot.

"You were failing, before our timely arrival." said Joker, referring to himself, rather than the 2016 movie "Arrival", starring Lois Lane and Hawkeye.

"We appreciate your help, mister Joker." said the red-headed sidekick.

"Mister Joker is my father. But, it is not the kindness inside my heart that makes us fight the likes of Dent." Joker said, morosely. As he said everything. He was a dynamo in the battlefield, but talked like a cross between Ben Stein and a particularly lazy snail. Snails are in my mind because they seem to be infesting my garden.

"We appreciate your help regardless." said Deadshot.

"I offered none." Joker said. And jumped, the marotte once again striking villains as if they where moles in line for the proverbial whacking.

"Well?" Bruce asked. "You got anything?" he asked. But before Kate answered, he got an answer. From Linux.

"I've been running the pictures on a machine learning edge detection software. Your goggles recorded his face from a few angles, so I managed to map it over a 3D overlay to provide a realistic model." Linux said, being a computer guy.

"And then?" asked Deadshot Lady. He was in her ear too.

"I compared it to the database. Criminal records, celebrities, the super rich, famous comic book artists, politicians. Anyone in th public eye." Linux said. Wouldn't that take thousands of years? Fanfiction technology.

"And then?" asked Deadshot Lady again, but not in a way that rips off Dude, Where's my Car.

"I got the results." said Linux.

"And are they interesting results?" Asked Deadshot Lady.

"Yes." said Linux.

"Will you tell me the results, Linux?" asked Deadshot Lady.

And he did. So, they're both happy.

Okay, back to the story.

"I'm guessing the Joker clubbed those guys for sport." said Bruce as they strolled into Chez Dent.

"Your guess is as good as mine." said Kate. "I think he's in a whole nother level. Like, we're climbing the stairs, and he's surfing the elevator. G_d only knows what his deal with Dent is."

"I know what my deal with Dent is." said Bruce. "I'm going to kill him." He refilled his gun with a clip he got after killing a wandering monster. If anyone remembers a 2D, Pixel-art based fantasy videogame, from before 1999, kinda like Diablo, but not procedurally generated, mention it in the comments. It's been driving me crazy. Though, I mean, I guess it's probably not as good as I remember.

Bruce bruced the door open, and behind the door there was a desk, and behind the desk there was a chair, and between the desk and the chair, was Dent.

"So, you've come to kill me?" "So, you've come to kill me?" asked Dent.

"Bingo." Bruce pointed the gun to him. He was ready to shoot. It would be a death…shot.

"Oh, you want to kill Bingo? Thank G_d, he's out in Bludhaven." "Oh, you want to kill Bingo? Thank G_d, he's out in Bludhaven." said Dents.

"Yeah, I think I'm going to kill you too. I'll settle the score with Bingo later." Bruce said. That doesn't mean anything, just goes with this scene but it won't be relevant to other chapters.

"Don't kill me bro. I'm really rich." "Don't kill me bro. I'm really rich." Dent pleaded.

"I'm way ahead of you." Bruce said.

"I've got a yearning to shoot you in the face. Just haven't decided which one." said Kate, Hennyyoungmanly.

"Up yours, pyxisophage! The men are talking." "Up yours, pyxisophage! The men are talking." bleeted Dent. And dent, Kate shot him. In the face.

And a good thing too, because that "says everything twice" gimmick was aging like milk. Dent is dead now. We won't be seeing him ever again.

"You haven't seen the last of me!" said Dent, holding one of his faces with one hand and shaking his fist in cheesy supervillain fashion with the other.

Bruce and Kate grabbed the Floo Powder they borrowed from the Harry Potter fanfic next door (the one where Voldemort fails to kill Harry's parents) and batpparate back to WayneTech.

There, in the basement, Linux is geeking out in front of the Wonderbox. His kneazle is licking her paw on a cat bed.

"Well, Linux, you have some explaining to do." Said Kate, taking off her mask to reveal the sexy pale face we all know and love. She took out the hair thing too, so we're talking the full-on Merida look.

"The computer doesn't lie." said Linux. "Unlike SOMEONE I know."

"Get over it, Linux, every girl fakes it sometimes." hissed the kitten.

"Not if there are two of them." Kait sade. Keep it in your pants, girl.

"Problem is, cats don't obey orders." said Linux. "With dogs, you just have to say 'come'. I should date Dogwoman."

"Can we leave the teen drama for later, Linux?" asked Bruce. "What you said about the Joker – something that all four of us know, so there's no reason to repeat it – seems illogical."

"Gee, Bruce, I don't know, maybe it's because this is all your dream." skwacked Linux "Doesn't have to make sense."

"Shut up, you fat, short, bald, big-nosed freak!" Bruce shouted. "Everything is great. I'm happy, you're happy, my parents are alive! Don't try to ruin it."

"Yes, my parents are alive. But, for all intents and purposes, the Joker shouldn't be."


	6. Chapter Six: The Joker Who Shouldn't Be

"He's kinda handsome." Kitten said, perched on Linux's shoulders. "Then again, compared to you, who isn't."

Nine was kinda ugly. David Tennant and Matt Jones were okay, but I stopped watching around that point.

"I love you too, kitten." he answered. And yeah, he's handsome. Handsome and dead.

"That man who looks like the Joker died in nineteen thirty eight?" asked Bruce.

"Yes, that's what I told you last chapter." said Linux. "You, and Kate. And kitten knows it too because she was here."

"I was asleep, but I get the gist of it." she meowed.

"He was an actor who died eight decades ago, and now he's back, in Joker form." Kate said. "I'm thinking ghost."

"Could be." Bruce said "Or, he faked his death. Froze himself, thawed now."

Is that even possible? Just ask Nora Fries. There was a comic, pretty good one too, where a guy who was frozen gets thawed in the future, where an evil corporation rules the world. The corporation guys talk it out, and decide he's useless. So, they're going to kill him I guess. The twist in the end is, the guy? Walt Disney.

"That's unlikely. I think the Joker is just wearing some realisting 1938-Dude mask, as an homage, throw us off our game. Or even, could be plastic surgery." said the kitten.

"You're a cat, what do you know about plastic surgery?" asked Linux.

"I just dream you'll get the hint someday." she answered.

Alternative answer: "Just ask Jocelyn Wildestein." she said. (don't google that)

"I wouldn't put it past him." said Bruce, his hand in his chin doing the international sign of pensiveness. "It's like he exists to shake things up."

"Sounds like my kind of guy." the kitten said, jumping gracefully back to the ground, paying as little attention to the others as humanly possible. Which was still a lot for a cat.

"It's nice that your girlfriend joins us for those reunions, Linux" said Kate, rolling her red-head's eyes.

"At least I get action. More than the Bruce can say." Linux said. He was obvi a bit upset about Bruce's ex girlfriend being part of the crimebusters®.

"I'll have you know, I'm a man's man, and I've had sex with hundreds of beautiful, willing young women, leaving every single one of them satisfied and bedazzled." said Bruce. But not in a gay way.

Kate was a lesbian, but it's okay because she's a chick so it's hot.

"How about a robot?" I asked. I mean, Kate asked.

"I'm not going to date a robot, Kate." Bruce shivered. "I mean, what if I'm 12 inches in, and the thing freezes or something, and it just… clenches?" Ouch. Have a nice night, men.

"I meant, what if the Joker is a robot." Kate clarified. Made clear. Like her skin is clear.

"The technology does exist." says Linux. He could be an AI, or even remote-controlled.

"He jumped from a Jokopter." Bruce said, referring to the scene described in the previous chapter. "Maybe the puppetmaster was up there all the time."

"Yeah." someone said. Kate I guess? She hasn't had a line in a while.

"It would explain his superhuman skills." Bruce added. "And he's talking to the scepter like it's a communicator."

"Or, if it's an AI." That means artificial intelligence. I went to college for almost two whole semesters so I know this stuff. But it was Linux saying it. "It might be some programming error, such as those we commonly see in inferior Microsoft® products. Could explain his moral ambiguity too."

"This is a lot of talk, but we're not getting anywhere." Kate stomped her lesbian foot down. Damn she's hot. Like one of those chicks you see walking around a college campus and you think "I'd never in a million years manage to sleep with a girl like that." Where do all those hot chicks come from, anyway? Natural redheads. They're like 1% of the population, but I see them everywhere. Might be some cognitive bias. And it's never the same girl. Must be a factory somewhere.

"Kate's right. And sexy." Bruce said. He agrees with me. "If the Joker wants to keep playing the underworld under his heel, we need to know where he stands." That was totally something the Joker was doing, too. It was implied.

"And how do you suppose we find that out?" ended a question with a proposition Kate.

"That's something help with which out you and your girlfriend might..." Bruce suggested, a bat-smile forming in his lips. "To the basket factory!"

BAT-MAN!


	7. Chapter Seven: The Seventh Chapter

It's a known fact for comic readers, writers and characters that Gotham City is home to several abandoned factories and warehouses, which are frequently used as hideouts for criminal elements while undertaking their criminal activities, i.e, crime.

It is also a known fact that criminals are often punched in the face, by heroes, super or otherwise. You and I, being intelligent people, know Joe Chill is quite deserving of one or several of such punches.

In Nineteen Thirty One, the Federal FBI Bureau of Investigation organized a crackdown on crime in the city, as part of a power centralization program undertaken by the president, reacting to an economic crisis. This was, in many ways, the beginning of the age of the superhero. Or, rather, the age of the supervillain. One too many federal man punched a bad guy in a zoot suit into a vat of chemicals, and, let's just say, those fellows weren't exactly beautiful to begin with.

So they all started getting nicknames. There was the Mole, the Coyote, the Shark, the Vulture, the Ox, the Platypus, the T-Rex. You couldn't swing a cat in old Gotham without hitting some ganef who looked like an animal. That lasted until around thirty four, where things were starting to get normal again, and not a minute too soon. But the damage was done. Gotham was the town with the petting-zoo criminals. Every other decade some mollusk crawled out of the water bragging about being the King of Crime.

Did you know Al Capone, AKA Scarface, hated that nickname? Yeah, I know what you're thinking, nowadays, everyone's like, Scarface? That's badass! But back then, it was just an insult. Nice Scarface, jackass. I'll be over here, enjoying my regular, non-mutilated face. Chicks love it. Since, you know, I look like a human being, rather than a target dummy.

Fast forward, eighty years or so, and Gotham's got more criminals than most city have rats. And to make matters worse, some of these criminals are calling themselves "The Rat". Yeah, I'm sure the ladies love it. They're all leading gangs of disposable mooks, trading shots in back alleys and plotting out poorly-conceived heists on museums and so on. It's a miracle people even move there.

So the Joker was a mover and shaker in the Gotham criminal underworld. Some people say he was a security guard who was bribed into letting some safebreakers into a building. So he either:

a) demanded a part of the cut.

b) joined the gang for future break-ins.

c) punched the criminals out, and kept the money to himself.

d) All of the above.

People said "Can you believe that joker?" and "Have you heard about that joker." So eventually, joker became Joker. And he was having his cake and eating it too. He'd join a gang, be a model mook, commit all the crimes (except for rape and child-hurt, because even criminals have standards.) He could make a mob boss a fortune, but he's unpredictable. He suddenly changed his mind, or heart (which one does the thinking again?) and bludgeon all the bad guys in his team, tie them in a bow for the bad boys, by which I mean the good guys. The cops. Bad boys like in the Bob Marley song.

Everyone applauded him, since he was fighting crime. But he did it from the inside. And he profited off it all the while. That's what you get.

I'm rather interested in the Joker, since there's something going on for sure. So I talked with a fivesome of specialists, alienists from the funny farm they call Arkham Asylum.

Meet the alienists:

Doctor Milo: Allegedly an expert in schizophrenia and altered states of consciousness, Doctor Milo is also a skilled neurosurgeon and mentalist. He attributes his professional and academic success to the free time and energy he has since he never changed his hairdo in his life.

Doctor Crane: No relation to Frasier or Niles, Crane is an expert in irrational fears (phobias) and has researched extensively on techniques for building tolerance to fear within controlled environments, often with the help of VR headsets and trained animals.

Doctor Teach: A descendant of the pirate Blackbeard, Teach is a neuropathologist focused on electromagnetic stimulation and chemically-induced hallucinations as behavioral change techniques, though those have yet to cure him of his pedophilia. His favorite Joss Whedon show is Dollhouse.

Doctor Strange: Risen to fame after being repeatedly confused for a character from a Marvel movie, the Croatian-born Strange revolutionary experiments in Epigenetics made him a small fortune, which he is now using to finance further experiments in Epigenetics, and to add to his round-rimmed sunglasses collection.

Doctor Quinzel: A five foot three, one hundred and twelve pounds Gallic-type blonde, with soft blue eyes, loving dimples and a squeaky, pleasant voice, Quinzel is admired in the psychiatric community for her 20.1 BMI, thin waist and flat stomach, shoe size five, thigh gap, perky breasts with small, upturned nipples and peach-shaped ass. Her psychoanalysis skills become self-evident once you hear how many people mention they'd "Love to lie down on her couch.".

So, doctor, doctor, doctor, doctor and hottie. What do your expertise tell us about our old buddy, the Joker? Is he a man, a ghost, a robot? What makes his heart beat?

Milo: In my opinion, the Joker is as human as you or me (meaning, a lot more than Joe Chill is). His career in crime/crimefighting is probably a consequence of opportunity and will. Approached by the criminal element, the citizen who would later become the Joker rationalized his actions by turning coat, thus collapsing the cognitive dissonance between his need to break the law, thanks to financial or social difficulties, and his socio-religious upbringing.

Crane: Doctor Milo's oversimplification is as stupid as his haircut. To suggest the Joker's behavior is standard would be to suggest there are hundreds of Jokers walking around the city. This is obviously not true. It seems obvious to me his behavior is pathological. Most likely, a distrust of authority, so extreme that it'd cause him to disregard the law. Then, after associating himself with a gang, he'd quickly construct that as a value system, which he is again forced to betray.

Milo: In addition to reminding Doctor Crane that his mother had no complaints about my hairstyle, admittedly because she had her mouth full during my meeting with her, I'll chastise him for suggesting the Joker could so quickly construct a new psychological understanding of society as quickly as it's been observed.

Crane: So, that's how it's going to be, huh? I would feel insulted on behalf of my mother for the implication made by Doctor Milo, were I unaware that, lacking a significant body part that would force one to interpret his comment negatively, his suggestion was, obviously, of a different nature.

Milo: Fuck you, Crane, you suck cocks with both mouths in retrospect.

Strange: The truth is, we can only speculate until we've had Joker's brain under an fMRI. That would make obvious what, if any, are his neurological peculiarities. A more thorough approach, then would involve the removal of the cerebellum to compare its physical characteristics to those of a control specimen, such as a newborn baby. Of course, that unfortunately raises ethical concerns.

You don't say, Strange?

Teach: While I agree with Professor's Strange assessment that only firsthand study can allow us to pinpoint the Joker's neuropathology, if any, I do believe imaging technique might give us more interesting answers. I also disagree with his idea that there is an ethical concern involved. In fact, a sufficiently advanced technology could render Joker's, and as a matter of fact anyone else in the world's mental health rights, moot.

Strange: Tread carefully, Teach.

Teach: It saddens me that a skilled academic such as yourself has abandoned the pursuit of knowledge for partisan jingoistic concern with "ethics". As if the ethical benefits of an universal imaging machine wouldn't far outweigh any possible worries.

Strange: You belong in a padded cell, that's a good piece of "unethical analysis" right there. And what's more, once you rot and die there, you child-molester scumbag, or even before that, then we take that pile of manure you call a brain out, and find out what made you want to fiddle kids.

Wow, those people are a class act, for sure. Doctor Quinzel?

Quinzel: Yes?

You haven't made your opinion known. Regarding the Joker. How would you, according to your expert knowledge, describe him?

Quinzel: That very question is about as meaningless as asking how would a mere ant describe the everlasting universe. The word "G_d" itself is a pathetic pastiche of the Joker's superiority to us, yet it is the closest word, in our limited understanding of reality, to one which would accurately describe him. My colleagues might be respected experts, but even them can't come close to understanding the Joker's supreme control over everything that is, was, will be, could be or couldn't be. I, myself abandon all pretense of scientific rigor (for such an idea is laughable when faced with his infinite superiority to us) and dedicate my life, which I now realize to be meaningless, to Joker Almighty, to mold and take – and return, since I know in my heart he can if he so wishes – adding to that my certainty that any shred of doubt about his theodicy would be a crime against creation itself.

I… see. And, doctor Qunizel, what again is your Alma Mater?

Quinzel: I'm a graduate of Peoria's career college correspondence course. My boyfriend at the time was the dean of admissions. But I'm sure that's not why I graduated after only five attempts.


	8. Chapter Eight: The Gold Bug

Having satisfied their curiosity (in kitten's case, despite the metaphorical life risk) our four heroes walked, walked, waddled and strutted out of the Asylum. The gothic construction dwarfed itself behind them, to be forgotten once again, just like it inhabitants of forgotten by society. Deep, huh?

"Well, that trip was a bust." said Kate, whose name suddenly changed to Kathy.

"I agree, it seems like those shrinks are crazier than the patients. What was up with Teach?" asked Bruce.

"A lot, apparently, if they were putting him in a straitjacket after our little inter-view." Squawked Linux.

Kitten had a line too.

"I gotta say, though, that doctor Quinzel was a bit of alright." Kathy said while licking her lips. "Nothing wrong with that, pity she seems to be so hungry for Jokock."

"She might be insane, sure, but she touched on a good point." Bruce said.

"I wish she would touch my good point." Kathy again. We get it, you're gay.

"What I meant, little-miss-horny-pants, was Qunizel gave me an idea. If we can't figure out the Joker, we can outsource it to someone who can." Said Bruce. Classic.

Linux knew all about it. It was he who got our friends into Arkham asylum to begin with. Said he wanted to say hello to his mom. That's right, Mrs. Cobblepot's gone full on crazy. Happens to the best families. But also to theirs. The answer is in a magazine. Though Bruce doesn't read much because the letters get all jumbled. The Gold Bug.

The four of them go back to Wayne Manor. Except for Linux and kitten, who've never been there, so, they just go to Wayne Manor. No back.

"Thank you, Pennyworth." Linux bowed his head once his tumbler was filled with scotch.

"Not at all, sir. Your father and I were friends for a goodish time." Alfred said, britishly "So it pleases me that the friendship can last a generation anew."

"We appreciate your help, uncle Alfred." said his niece (Kathy, for those of us who don't know). "But the four of us need to discuss something in particular." And Uncle Thomas' studio is usually pretty safe. Can't really call him Uncle Tom. Harriet Beecher Stowe kinda killed that. Not a bad book.

I was reading one of the Jeeves and Wooster books, and Wooster's aunt Agatha marries a guy named Tom, so he's like uncle Tom this, uncle Tom that. Felt kinda weird. Times change. Anyway, back to the story.

"If you're referring to your exploits as Deadshot and Deadshot Lady, miss Kane, I can assure it, my lips are sealed." Alfred said with a thin smile, something we often see in butlers. In movies and stuff at least. I've never seen a butler in real life.

"Alfred!" Bruce ejaculated with surprise. "How did you know?"

"Trust me, master Bruce. One does not train a soldier for over a decade and remain unaware of his fighting stylings. I could see Deadshot was you from day one. Who else could he be, after all?" Was Alf's answer.

"Do mom and dad know?" asked Bruce.

"I do not know." answered Alfred.

"So they don't?" asked Bruce.

"No, I do not." answered Alfred.

"But you do." said Bruce.

"No, I do know, but I do not know whether they know." said Alfred.

"Oh, no." said Bruce.

"I know." said Alfred, and removed himself.

By the way, turns out Steve Buscemi did play commissioner Jim Gordon in a Saturday Night Live Batman parody.

So, the foursome was let to their own devices in Wayne's study. Fries' cold gun was still there, by the way, so, don't forget about it, because, you know, it's going to play a part later. Linux had the magazine in his flippers. The Gold Bug.

It was pretty much a lot of nerd crap, and none is nerdier or crappier than our own Ed Nygma. He was a columnist who'd solve problems and riddles. The idea came from Linux, when hearing Teach scream as they shoved him in a padded cell.

"How is a Raven like a Writing Table?" asked the Teacher. Teach, I mean. He was a neurologist. Though I guess it's kinda hard trusting a psycho to fiddle with your brain. Not that that'd stop him. More on that later, stay tuned.

Ed Nygma, the Golden Riddler. The Smartest Man Alive. G_d knows he ain't got the looks, but he was smart enough to realize he could prevent himself from getting his ass kicked if he did enough pushups. He wore a bowler hat, yellow with a black band, and a questionmark on the front. Because he answered questions. That was pretty much his picture in the column, so we all know wo Ed is. Sheldon Cooper looking motherfucker.

Kitten made a few remarks about the dude having stolen his three-piece of Matthew Lesko, and the cane was pretty much just for show. Also, there's no way Nygma's his real name. That's not a name. It's a pun. What's next, Batman's gonna be fighting Oliver Kloszov?

Linux tope a question to the bug, the riddler in the bug, the golden one. "How is a Raven like a writing desk?"

Do you know the answer, dear reader? I've got a list.

1\. Because there's an "o" in both and an "e" in neither.

2\. Because Poe wrote on both.

3\. Because they're both nevar put back to front.

4\. Because they're both voiced by Tara Strong.

5\. Your mom.

6\. Because you can't be raven in a desk, and you can't be writin in a rave.

7\. Because I only have one radiation suit.

8\. Because Jon Snow uses both for written communication.

9\. Because you can get a ravenous piece out of either.

Despite having a four digit IQ (individual digits tbd), the Golden Riddler was stumped. It's supposed to be an easy one, but you can't google the answer, because the internet doesn't work in Morpheus' realm. Which means no chance of his hot sister being a catfish.

Speaking of hot girls. Know what Triana Orpheus' boyfriend is called? Raven.

"I don't know." said the Riddler, the Golden one. I might be the world's smartest man, but I don't know, so, I can think laterally. That's when the brain's to the person's right. Sometimes, the brain just left.

It's not a riddle, it's a trap. You start with an answer and ask your students the question, but they're not teaching you, since you're the one getting paid. But you pay them in grades. An A's worth around thirty dinari, which is how much Judas got for betraying Jesus. Don't ask me how I know that.

But once you get older, the questions get harder, just like in my Oliver Queen/Vic Sage fanfic. Suddenly, the teacher doesn't know the answer. You're telling them. And there's an examination board, and if you tell them what you found out, they'll give you a Ph.D. I got one when I was ten.

How many do I have now? If you knew that, you'd have to be as clever as me – bang.

So, you've trapped me to get my attention, I get that, so you got it. A riddle with know answer, I know the answer is there's no answer. But I applaud your cojones. So we meet.

The girls'll be outside waiting to spring the trap. Summer in the factory roof, kitten is stalking, but luckily it's not hot tin. Let's hope she won't fall. It's winter, so Linux'd rather stay inside.

"Deadshot, can you see him?" he asks.

"He's arriving in his Riddlermobile." answered the shot. Just in case you were wondering whether he's a serious character, he has a Riddlermobile. You're picturing it now, aren't yo? It's like, an old-time yellow Ford with his freaking face on the front, smiling like a crack-addict impact, his white irisless eyes upturned under a domino mask. Riddle me this, jackass, if you're the world's smartest man, why haven't you figured out that's a total douche thing?

"So, you girls work here?" he yellowedly asked to the two. Two redheads.

Their are Pam and Kathy, right? I mean, who else can they be? Barbara is still too young to be sexualized like I like. It's not that type of fanfic, don't worry. I'm not Jarvis Teach.

"Yes, we're factory girls." answered Pamela, though her green swimsuit kinda betrayed that idea. I worked in a factory for a bit, and let me tell you, your average superheroine is pretty underdressed for that Ratchet and Clank.

"Likely story. And you're twins?" the Riddler was diddled.

"No, we're lovers." Kathy revealed. Though her outfit was revealing a lot to begin with. Woof, you know?

Likelier and likelier. I know you're planning something. But last time I got laid, a hot dog cost a dime, so my heart is open to the goodlooking gals. You sent the riddle, riddle me this?

"Are you the world's smartest man?" the redhead asked. Doesn't matter which one.

"One hundred percent." nodded the Golden Riddler.

Let's get it straight, his name is Golden Riddler, not just Riddler. Sometimes I forget to say Golden, but that doesn't mean it's not his official name, it's just like a superhero's nickname. Like how sometimes they call Green Goblin the Goblin, or Gobby. Or how Iron Man is sometimes Shellhead, or Alkie.

"We need you to answer us a question." said Ginger number One. Ginger number Two added. "If you really are that smart."

"Follow me inside, and take off your clothes." asked the Golden Riddler.

"Is that necessary to get an answer?" asked Kathy.

"No, but I wouldn't be the world's smartest man if I didn't want to see you naked." was the answer. But not THE answer.

Too late for Kathy to protest, Pamela was already naked. That was fast, but she didn't wear a lot to begin with.

Heck, I'm writing this thing. Kathy's naked too. And kitten up in the roof. Though she's always naked. Except for the collar with the bell. I'm, uh, I think I'm going to do a lot of repeated shots for this scene. For artistic reasons of course.

" away." said the Golden Riddler. Alfred wasn't there. Busy taking care of the buttery I guess?

"Who is the Joker?" asked Kathy, bustily.

"The Joker's a card." was Ed's answer.

The Joker, you say. What would force and/or allow a man to dress up like a scary clown, fight crime and commit it. Should be commited, say some, but I'm not sure I agree. Psychology of the individual, here I go again. Ask his doctor, the Quinzel.

All she's interested in is him, but she calls him Him. Like the Powerpuff Villain, remember? Quinzel's no answer. I saw her last night, on a TV show. She was saying "I'm a maggot." So, you know, self-esteem issues.

"No, she really thinks she's a maggot. She sure is nutty." The nutty psychiatrist. She'll have a word with mister Jay later. And it won't stink!

"But she doesn't know. If you're so smart, how come you aren't rich?" asked Pamela. She's, part of the team now, I guess?

In between last chapter and this, Kathy came clean about the whole Dedshot thing. She's way into it. And she knew the gang. Kitten liked it. Always good to have another catnip contact.

"Because the world will crumble in twenty forty. No need for money then, and gold I already have. Who does have gold, though, not me?" asked the answerer.

"Do you hear this, Deadshot?" Ask Kathyed.

"Louder than war." said Bruce.

"The Joker needs training. Money. Free time. A story in his past that'd motivate him to crime fight." the golden said "Why, isn't it obvious? The Joker is Bruce Wayne."

I'd take another guess, Ed.


	9. Chapter Nine: and Ten there were Six

Not Bruce Wayne at all, not the Joker we know and love. Well, the Joker we love, anyway. See, what does he look like?

"All white guys look the same to me. It depends on the artist, really. Greg Land just traces from porn stars."

"You would know." Yeah because he's so smart, he knows everything.

"But." said, uh, let's say Pamela. "We both know two things about Bruce Wayne – his parents are alive, and he really likes guns. Doesn't sound like the Joker to me."

"That's true, no one with parents would wear something that ridiculous in public." said Kathy, apparently unaware of what I wore when I was sixteen. If anyone wants pictures, send a comment.

"Yes, yes, yes, but, only if you follow a linear concept of time." said the Golden Riddler, who didn't.

"Here comes nonsense." braced Kathy.

"Bruce Way is a happy and well-adjusted young man" (cousin-fucker) "because his parents are sweet and loving. Now, say our friend Bruce had tragically lost his parents, Captain Mustache and Ambiguously Jewish Girl, at a young age."

Go on , Riddler. Or I'll riddle you with bullets.

"He would lose it, would he not? His parents are dead, he's got several billions to burn, his butler's a war vet. He's a vigilante, like Vigilante. Dishing out cold justice. He must become someone else. He must become something else. Criminals are a superstitious, cowardly lot. He must become...a Joker."

"There are a hundred billion reasons why that's bullshit." Said our redheaded friend. "But, the most obvious one is, Thomas and Martha are very much alive, and well, too. Thomas is doctoring, Martha has her charity groups. They're alive, and Bruce is just a playboy."

"In this world, sure." said the Riddler, diddled. "But, strange aeons. The Joker is probably some… dimensional surfer."

"That's beyond impossible." Sounds like a meaningless thing to say, but, trust me. It's all about string theory. Our molecules vibrate, and only exist in a fraction some universal time. When time is frozen for us, the Joker exists in his universe. But he's hopped, somehow. Nonsense. I thought you were supposed to be smart, Golden Riddler.

"Oh, I am smart, my dear narrator. Brilliant. So brilliant, it's stupid." the Golden Riddler told me. E. Nygmatic fellow, I know. But, what he meant was he was bound to do something. And the girls were bound.

I built the Taj Mahal.

It's always like that, isn't it? Pretty young ladies, an evil villain in a colorful costume, rope and machinery. Tied to the assembly conveyor belt. Naked naked naked, because I'm not PG Wodehouse (I wish). The belt is moving towards a stomping thingie. They move slowly, and erotically, to their deaths. In peril like Pauline.

"Deadshot, you hear that?" asks the cat. "The Golden Riddler's a baddie now." I'll top him.

She jumps down, lands on her feet, like always. You're in trouble now, skinny. Kitty has claws. Fsss.

"You might be adorable, but humans are usually more intelligent than cats. And, I am usually more intelligent than humans." So says the riddleman. He flashes red, like Flash's red.

"A red dot? My only weakness!" The kitty chases the dot, unaware, it seems, that light, amplified by stimulation of electromagnetic radiation, can't exactly be caught.

The riddler keeps playing with the laser pointed, and that poor cat has no choice but to chase him, to no effect. Some readers might find it offensive that Selina Kyle has been dispatched so easily, but there's precedent in comics for that type of stuff. She loses, a lot. Easy on the eye, though.

Linux: Deadshot, you gotta save her. And the girls too if there's time.

"I'm on my way, Linux. We should have figured mister big brain was up to something rotten."

Yes, it's true, high IQ is usually correlated with crime. I don't remember if it's a direct or inverse correlation, but I'll keep writing, since automatic writing doesn't leave a lot of time for research. Don't worry, I still get laid a lot.

"Yeah, just not by other people." laughs the Golden Riddler, evily. He clutches his can and swings it around in an effeminate, but still sexually threatening to women, way. Get over here, Bruce, the girls are closer to being made into wheatcakes any minute. Ever wondered why Batman never gets stuck in traffic?

He uses the carpool lane. That's what Robin is for. Hah! Just thought of that.

But that won't do. Edward Nashton, he has a brain like John Nash's, but it's also like John Nash's. He's got a crush on Kathy and Pam, which means he wants to crush them under a giant piece of quarter-flattening factory machinery. The girls are bound, nowhere to go. All of that is for important artistic literary reasons, not because it gives me a boner.

Who, then, will save the pretties? Here's a hint – it's the Joker.

Clang! The marotte breaks the factory window and the Jester of Justice hops in, like a Mossad Agent played by young Christopher Walken.

Okay, back. Turns out it was a metadata gathering issue, if you can believe it. So stupid. Anyway, where were we? Joker on the factory window, right. It's weird, I used to work in a factory, and I never noticed the windows. I know it did have them, for ventilation and stuff, up on the top (so the workers couldn't jump out), but there was also this huge fan. Literal huge fan haha. The joke is usually the other way around.

"Hah!" cried the Golden Riddler, brandishing his cane like a sword, which is something my grandfather used to do in his last years, when the Alzheimer's thing got way bad. I know that sounds funny, but it's true, not a joke. It's weird, the mental image. For me, it's pretty tragic.

Joker doesn't talk, just moves. Marotte in hand, it's time to bash the Riddler's unusually large brain in. What kind of psycho gets off on harming women?

"That's what I'd like to know, so I can join the abstinence meetings." I said. I mean, the Golden Riddler. Bruce sees the duo fight, clashing cane and marotte like Game of Thrones swords. He got there on Danaerys' dragon, which can teleport apparently.

"You'll soon be the world's smartest cadaver." says the Joker. Riddler is a strong nerd, but still, no match for a nineteen-twenties era silent movie comedian. Seriously, those guys were ripped. Joker tires him out.

It is obvious that Joker won the fight. The girls are saved by Deadshot, and dressed again because the action is pretty much over. The kitty tired herself out and is taking one of her famous naps. The Golden Riddler is defeated.

TWIST.

"You have the right to remain Silent, Bob." Kevin Smith wrote some Batman stories.

"I'll give that right up, for the right instead to gloat." Gloated the Riddler. "For, you see, I am the Victor."

No, Victor left with his wife for Russia. And they say you're smart.

"But I am, aren't I?" asks Edward, already tied up, but not in a sexy way cause he's a dude. "For I promised Deadshot and Lady, plus her girlfriend Pamela, and the computer bastard who's giving order to That Darn Cat® I'd tell you all about the Joker."

"Tell your story to the Horror in Arkham." The Joker perpwalks him.

"Yes, and here you are now, you see. I've been in character all along. I'm not a villain, nor do I have any interest in pretty redheads like the pair or diamonds in front of us. So I get them under my thumb, and reveal my 'evil' hidden intentions. That would attract the obviously-tapping-everyone's-communicators Joker, who would 'beat' me, but not lethally because that's not cricket. Now, Ladies and Gentleman, you've got the Joker in your hands, ready to unmask. Either he lets me go (I'm in favor of this idea) or you unmask him." said the Riddler. Except Joker's not wearing a mask. He meant it metaphorically, you see, the Joker "mask."

"He's right, Deadshot." Shot Linux "You overpower Joker now, you'll know all there is to know about him. Golden Riddler planned the whole thing from the start." If you believe him.

"He tied us to a conveyor belt!" squealed Pamela, grumpy. Though, I don't really think grumpy people can squeal. Bitter people, fidgety people, whiny people, or childish people. "Grumpy" and "squeal" don't match.

"You were never in danger." said the Riddler. "The machines have failsafe sensors, anything thicker than a pizza goes near, the thing stops, to prevent grievous bodily harm."

It's true, you know. Though I suppose he could have modified the equipment so the failsafe is ignored. Any evidence against the conspiracy is evidence for the conspiracy.

Joe Chill is the scum of the earth. His parents would've been better off flushing him and raising the turd.

"How did you know I wouldn't be able to come?" asked Deadshot.

"SATISFYING ANSWER TO THE QUESTION" answered the Golden Riddler.

"Seems like you thought of everything." said Kathy.

"Yes, dear girl, I thought of everything. Ten years ago. I've been playing chess in my head with everyone on earth. I know everything. Just ask my sidekick, the talking motorcycle voiced by Owen Wilson."

"You've got" "A bit of an ego? I knew you were going to say that. And in my case, modesty would be a lie. I am a genius, genius. Ask me anything, I dare you."

I'd rather not. In fact, I'm done with you, Ed Nygma, or Ed Nashton, or Riddler or Golden Riddler, or whatever you want to call yourself. You got a big brain, huh? Let's see how you handle it. Drop

And drop he did. He's not dead, because corpses can't feel pain. And screaming is usually a sign of pain. Also, clutching the head. Learn your place, Riddley. Nobody gets out Scott Free.

We need to take him to a hospital. If only one of us was a doctor's son, OH WAIT.


	10. Chapter Ten: Is that the bankruptcy one?

So the five of them rushed the dude to the hospital. Joker included. The other four, according to my notes, are Bruce "Deadshot" Wayne, Kathy "Deadshot Lady" Kane, Selina "Kitten" Kyle, and Pamela "No Superhero name as of this chapter" Isley. Fuck, she's so hot. Walks barefoot, what a hippie. It's cute though, like a peacenik. You figure you can be honest with her, say stuff like, "Oh, I write Batman fanfic" and she won't judge, because if she does, you can always say "Well at least I have fucking shoes on, get a job!". Not that it comes to that. But, it's good to know you have the option.

Now some of you are thinking, strange that The Joker of all people would be helping some nerd rando get to the O.R. But, that's the type of guy he is. He'll do everything in his power to prevent the death of an innocent person, even if it means killing thousands of innocent persons. No time for us to put our costumes on, and since dad (your uncle) is inside, we'll need to hide here. Joker, you go in with Pam, tell my dad what happened. If anyone can save the Riddler, it's him. Motherfucker could operate on the Headless Horseman.

The two come inside, carrying the gold-clad poindexter. Nurses all gather round. And they gaze in wide wonder. At the Riddler they found. Head nurse spoke up. Said "Take this one to the O.R.". She could tell right away. They'd need to saw some bone.

Doctor Thomas Wayne is the surgeon. Something in his brain, could be a tumor. His student is observing, He knows all about tumors, since, you know, two parents died on account of them. And four grandparents. And eight great-grandparents. Runs in the family.

"We need to relieve pressure on the skull." Says Wayne. Blood everywhere. "Give me one of the cutty-things doctors use. Nurse!"

"Doesn't look like any tumor I've ever seen." says Kirk. "More like an overripe fruit."

"I'm cutting it open, he'll die if I don't." At least then he'll have a fighting chance.

"Looks like a brain alright, just not a human one." Kirk adds. "Whale."

"Dammit, Kirk, I'm a doctor, not an ichthyologist!" berates Thomas.

"Ichthyologists are for fish. Whales are mammals." Well, Sean, my interns aren't. Sorry, it's kinda out of character, but I can't resist a Scrubs reference. I'm no Superman.

"So, his brain's too big for his skull?" Asked the nurse with the big tits. "It was going to burst?"

"I've heard of it before. Cephalomegaly. Incredibly rare." Thomas said, the brain still attached to the spine. "He's as good as dead."

"He'll never walk again." Corpses don't walk, Kirk. Joe Chill should become a corpse. "But he can live. In a way."

I knew I should've brought the thermogun. Freeze him, and wait for the cure. It gets kinda practical after a time. Can you imagine, a future where everyone goes into the hospital, they freeze them, and only thaw them once they're good and healthy? Short story idea right there. The twist is, doctors don't need to rush, so they get lazy. People spend years cryogenically frozen. Society collapses. Black Mirror.

"He's not a handsome man." said Kirk, who was one to talk. "Not athletic, but smart. Let's save what we can use. The gold matter." And they did. They Saved Riddler's Brain.

Brain in a jar. Joker's mouth's ajar.

Funny aside. We're talking about the Riddler, and I made the "a jar/ajar" joke, but the thing is, in the sixties, Frank Gorshin released a novelty album as the Riddler. There were riddles in it, and one of the riddles were, "When is a door not a door? When it's ajar." Funny, huh, the more things change, the more they stay the same. I'll namedrop Two-Face since we're talking about Gorshin because I don't think I'll have the opportunity again, and Kirk was just 120 words ago.

"What, so, he's a brain...in a jar?" asked the Joker, scientifically.

"Yes, but, hes alive thanks to the iron lung. It floods the brain with oxygen, which feels good." Explained Pamela, who had tried oxygen before.

"Can he do anything?" he asked, dragging the marotte to the brain. Carefully.

"He can't hear us without ears. Would need a brain-to-machine interface to communicate, really." She said. She's a main character now, I guess.

Ironically, the only person intelligent enough to develop this type of machinery is...the Golden Riddler. He'll just spend the rest of his life, locked in, I guess. Locked in, locked in...can he move his eyes? No muscles, so, no. But what about the pupils?

"His pupils, they dilate again and again." she observed. "Like a flashing light. Morse Code."

"You mean the communication technique developed in eighteen thirty-six by Samuel Morse?" asked the Joker.

"Yes, I can read it. Writing it down, pen and paper" Pam and paper joined forces to translate Nygma's thoughts. Gee Eee Tee Space Emme Eee Space Ay Space Tee Are Ay Enn Ess Elle Ay Tee Oh Are. Bee I Enn Ay Are Why Space Emme Ay Cee Eight I Enn Eee.

The doctors and scientists start working on it. It's a simple camera on a computer, running light analysis software. The software translates it pretty fast – dilated pupils mean zero, undilated ones mean one. Zeroes and ones, the brain is speaking binary. And if it speaks binary, it can program.

"This is amazing." Joker said, flabbergasted. "Nygma's telling the doctors how to understand him. He's building a program using only his eyes. He's achieved more today than every other scientist in the entire history of the world."

Still can't get laid. Just a brain in a jar.

"It's a mad world." Pamela said. Also amazed. And amazing. Remember, we're talking about a very attractive girl here. You'd think Joker only has eyes for his marotte, but, let's be honest. Sparks are flying.

"So, you'll come back with us?" asked Pamela. "To the basement of Wayne Tower? You know Bruce and Kathy are curious about who yo are."

"I'll come back, sure." The clown nodded, politely as we all know the Joker to be. "But on my own terms, remember. I'm nobody's puppet." Though he dresses like one. Punch and Judy puppet. He wants Pamela for his Judy.

Now we're talking a six-man group! Bruce, Kathy, Ozzy, kitten, Pam and Joker. All in the basement. Kinda like Friends in Central Perk. Let's think… Bruce would be Ross, Kathy's Monica since they're related. Ozzy is Chandler, because nerd. I guess kitten would be Phoebe because there are some cat themes to Phoebe in some episodes. Which leaves Joker as Joey (both start with J) and Pam as Rachel. Not a perfect analogy, but, perfect analogies are oxymorons, and since bad analogies can also be oxymorons, the better an analogy is, the worse an analogy is.

"Well." Joker was there. "What do you want to know?"

"Let's start with a name." said Bruce, smoking a bat-cigarette.

"Watt's in a name." answered the Joker. "I mean, my name is Watt. Trink Watt."

"Never heard of no dude named Trink." quacked Linux.

"I believe there's a lot of stuff you don't hear, since people prefer being silent when you're around, lest their noise alert you to their presence and thus confuse you into believing it's an invitation for your presence near them." the Joker explained "Which, as we all know, is rather undesirable."

"Your mom." Muttered Linux.

Still, the name Trink Watt doesn't mean anything. Shakespeare reference, ooo, so erudite. You mean you went to high school, congrats. Marlowe is much cooler.

"That name means nothing, nevertheless." Bruce said, while Linux was duckduckgoing the name online. "What's your true story?"

"I, I must say, Bruce Wayne. I don't really know why you care." Said the Joker. "I have no story. Or, rather, I have a story that's as unique and as common as everyone else in the world."

You see, I (I'm the Joker now) was born in Cleveland, like a certain comic book artist. My father was a dentist, and my mother lost a lot of money on Tupperware. My sister married my father's partner in the practice when I was 14. I played baseball. I went to State with a liberal arts degree, but I had to drop out once dad had a stroke, so I could take care of him. My mom joined the church of Raël and divorced him so she could move in with a psychic doula named Beauty. They died of toxic shock syndrome after trying a pirate Jade Egg.

As normal as it gets.

I was working on an electronics shop then, and that's where I met Marotte. She wanted a digital recording camera for her ballet classes. (We're talking about a meter-long puppet here, but the class doesn't discriminate). So she told me about fighting crime in Gotham. Once my father passed away, I told my sister, Jokerella, I wanted to move to Gotham to pursuit a showbiz career. Her going-away present to me was lead makeup and the rest of my costume.

"But you don't always fight crime. You're sometimes on the wrong side of the law." Bruce told me. I was getting to that.

I'm nobody. I lie, I lie about lying, I'm untrustworthy, I cheat on my wife, which isn't easy considered I'm a lifelong bachelor. I do so much cocaine it's made my long nose flat and my pink face white. I lied to my sister about going to Gotham, and I lied to you when I told you I had a sister. The whole thing is a House of Cards, and all the cards are Jokers.

"That's not a satisfying answer." said Bruce.

"I'm checking the internet, doesn't seem to be anything with the name Trink Watt." said Linux. "Just automatically-generated pages and GIGO."

I keep a low profile.

"So low, it's nonexistent." said the hottie next to Bruce. Not Pam, the other one, the cousin one, Kathy. I prefer Pam, to be honest, but, you know how guys are. If it has breasts and weights less than 55 kilograms, send it to my bed.

The lass kept talking as I objectified her, which I'm used to, since my best friend is an object. "If you attended college, they'd have entrance records on you."

All records from my school burned in a fire (which I caused) before being digitized.

"If you cared for your father, your name should be in some hospital's archives." she said.

Hollistic medicine. They don't keep records because they're a bunch of quacks, so they don't want their repeated failures etched in stone.

"That's true." said the kitten.

"It is true." said Kathy.

"It's true." said Pam.

"He's saying the true." said Linux.

"Fuck Joe Chill." said Bruce.

I really don't see why you people even care. Who are you, World's greatest detective? Drives me bats. Sherlock Holmes was a skinny bohemian who applauded himself when looking at a vault. You already have a vault full of money. You're young, strong, smart, handsome, rich, popular, healthy and sane. Most people would be happy to be one of those things. Why aren't you? Just, forget about me, live your life.

"Hypocrite." the ginger spoke. Pam-cake. How do you figure, little cutiepie? Because I'm not happy? No I won't marry you, my bonny-be-girl, no I won't marry you, my darling? Sounds like a good deal, for both of us, does it not? I steal you away from soldier girl, and keep you busy with my phallus. Meanwhile, Bruce forgets about fighting crime and spinning bat-ropes and undergoes the greatest adventure of all time, love.

Because I can see, as clear as my skin, that Bruce loves Kathy, and Kathy loves Pam, and Pam loves Joker, and Joker loves Pam, and Pam loves Kathy and Kathy loves Bruce. Though Joker doesn't love Bruce. Because Joker is Bruce, and Bruce doesn't love himself? TBD

Meanwhile, Linux loves kitten, and kitten loves kitten. But kitten loves that Linux loves kitten, so she's okay with him. Sounds kinda sad, but I've seen sadder things irl. Besides, she's cute.

Will I get on my knees, in front of the girl of my dreams?

Will I pop the ring-pop out of the ring box where the boxed ring is inside of? Will she smile with her blue eyes and red red hair and jump up and down with joy and say yes, oh yes, a million times yes? Yes. So I'm engaged and happy and forgot all about that Joker thing that's for cunts. But, wait, am I Bruce or am I Joker?

Whomever I am, I lied about the Trink thing. Never trust a dude with makeup on, because if he tells you something, it is madeup.

Chapter Eleven, starting in five, four, three, (two), …


	11. Chapter Eleven: Bruce has a little dick

Kirk.

Kirk!

Kirk!

Wake up, already. You're not getting paid to sleep. That's only for Leonardo DiCaprio and Joseph "Robin" Gordon-Levitt. Sounds like a "dream" job.

So, the previous was an Inception reference. If you haven't seen the movie, you shouldn't be reading this. Because, let's face it, Inception is better than this fanfic. Heck, Birdemic is better than this fanfic. The blonde chick is hot, I'd applaud that.

Okay, back to the story. Are you awake, Kirk?

"Sorry, Doctor Wayne. I guess I'm a bit of a night owl." he said. Night Owl is like Batman, only fat and pathetic. (So, Batman, only fat. Heyo!)

"You're a nocturnal creature alright." the boss said. "But you're the best surgeon in the hospital. Second only to myself, of course."

"& I suppose that means you have a job for me." Kirk kirked. A job for Superbat, haha. Most excellent.

"Yes."

"If it's so important, why don't you perform the surgery yourself?" asked Kirk. You do, after all, have a steady hand. For an old man. Not that old, of course, but the mustache adds a few decades. It's like you were designed in the thirties, man.

"I'd rather not, you see. The procedure's simple enough a monkey could do it, and you're kind of like a monkey, from some angles. And the patient is my niece." he said.

"Right, the beautiful one, with the freckles and the comic book superheroine figure?" asked Kirk. He was usually attracted to young, shapely women. Might be because he's latino. No wait that's his friend SUPERMAN from the G_ds and monsters continuity.

"Aren't you married?" asked Thomas.

"Not to Kathy Kane." answered Kirk. Though he pretty much missed his shot, since she was getting married. Just needs a little Fallopian ligature first.

"So that's the thing? She needs to be barren to marry, according to law?" and superheroes don't break the law.

"Yes, her fiancè is my son, Bruce." Good old Bruce Wayne. Marrying his cousin. Don't act like that, Albert Einstein married his cousin. Also, Tywin Lannister. But, they need proof of infertility. It's kinda yucky to some people, but, luckily, we're billionaires, so the laws of morality don't really apply to us.

"Gotcha. I'll be prepping for surgery. Now, let me get this straight – Kathy is marrying Bruce, but they can't have kids, and Joker is marrying Pamela, and they CAN have kids." asked Kirk, for the reader's benefit.

Yeah, Joker can have kids, but knowing Pam, she'll probably raise a squash as her son. I knew a girl who treated a cucumber as her boyfriend, so there is precedent.

So Kirk went there to nip/tuck Kathy's tubes, so she wouldn't have a baby. Damian doesn't exist in this continuity. Not because of Kathy, since he's Thalia's kid. I just don't like it. Freaking rugrat. Meanwhile, Bruce got a vasectomy. A bat-sectomy, if you will, which is a much simpler procedure. For his services in pursuit of the betterment of bat-kind, Kirk was given an invitation to the wedding.

"You know, I'd rather have a lab, to be honest." he said.

"I know, I'll have Alfred outfit the natural cavern under my place for you." said Wayne. "That way you can work on your cure for cancer without being bothered by anyone from our phylum."

"Isn't that cave somewhat bat-infested?" asked Kirk. Don't look a gift bat in the mouth, freaking Kirk. Because you might see fangs.

So Kirk got the lab as fangs for the procedure, and Kathy went on to marry the bat. Though she should've married me! I like goodlooking girls OK!

Man, I can't believe it's past midnight already. And I haven't even gotten to the wedding. So, in this continuity, Anarky never became ananarchist and went into the cloth. He's officiating the wedding. Do you, Bruce Thomas Wayne, take this woman, your cousin, to be your lawful wedded wife, to love and respect, to cherish and understand, in sickness or in health, in poverty or in wealth, in DC or in Marvel, as long as you both shall live?

"I do" said the Bruce.

And do you, Katherine Kathylia Wayne, take this man, the Doctor's son, to be your lawful wedded husband, to share your life, be he sane or be he batty, forever, even if he decides to dress up like a bat to spook criminals at night, until you both die by getting gunned down by Joe Chill (known scumbag) on your way out of the movies?

"I do." said the Kathy.

Then, by the power invested in my G_d almighty, and his sidekicks on Earth that work in form of organized religion, sort of like G_d Inc., I now pronounce you Husband and Wife. You may french.

And they sure did. They sure freaking did.

Meanwhile, across town, back in the slums, the Joker had a pretty similar wedding. There were lots of similarities, for instance, everyone there had two legs and two arms. Except for the Riddler, Edward Nygma, he's basically a brain in a jar. But, he has ways to move communicate, thanks to a device (of his own invention) that's attached to the whatever part of his brain that's responsible for speech. Frontal lobe? I'll check wikipedia either.

Unpleasant as it was, there was a Wedding Crasher®, which sucked, but at least it didn't suck as much as The Internship. G_d, talk about an awful movie. And don't even get me started on Fight Club. The crasher, or Crasherette, was a lass by the name of Harley. That's right, good old Doctor Quinzel from chapter eight. She's the only girl who went to church and worshiped the groom instead of G_d. Hm, autocorrect informs me worshiped only has one P. And here I thought it was pee pee. Lol peepee.

Commissioner Gordon got rid of the blonde nutjob so we could continue the party. And she has to be a nutjob to want to do the Joker, especially when there are perfectly nice young men writing this fanfiction available. Off to Arkham with you, blondie.

Right, back to the wedding. The officiator was Peter Cannon, Thunderbolt, because I miss his comics. Do you, Joker, because let's face it, that Trink Watt thing was obviously a lie or whatever, take this redhead, to love and to care, to fuck and to fuck (second one was anal), when you're good and when you're evil, for the next, hm, six hours or so?

"I do." said the Joker, seriously.

And, do you, Pamel Mos Isley, take this playing card, to love and to keep, to keep in a keep, to play keeps as he quips, if he jokes or if he chokes, to blow or be blown away, until you're Pushing Daisies®, like Ronan the Accuser?

"You know it." said Pam.

You may now kiss. And they did. And that's not terrible.

Bruce and Kathy, AKA the Waynes, honeymooned in the Greek Islands, which is what I had planned for my honeymoon before my girlfriend got carpal tunnel syndrome. Kathy's favorite island? Lesbos! Ha! Sofisticated humor, right there. They had sex for forty days and forty nights, only stopping to relax with a little sex. Then they came back home. By ship.

"So, a happy newlywed couple?" asked John. He was a newlywed too. Except that was five years ago. John and Mary Ghodzov, you know. They wanted to join the circus, since they were skilled acrobats, and it was a family business, but they got to talking to an nice Gothamite couple who traveled there (to Armenia) and insisted they both tried out for the olympic team, no need to americanize their names or nothing. They were on their way to Russia when a vulture got into the plane's turbine and they had to make an emergency landing. Unfortunately, that plane crash killed John and Mary. The only survivors were Gibreel Farishta and Saladin Chamcha Bruce and Kathy, the newlywaynes. Also, John and Mary's son.

It's sad that J and M died, but, let's face it, they weren't exactly main character material to begin with. Bruce and Kathy landed with the baby in their hands. Well, Kathy's hands. It's amazing.

"What's amazing?" she asked.

"Us, we can't'have kids. Yet, the one who oversees everything from above, saw fit to give us a child, not one of our own, but one for us to raise as our own. Everything fell into place, much like the plane."

"So, we'll keep him." she asked. "Nobody knows. Nobody'll ask questions. We just found him somewhere. Keep his first name, give him his last name. He even looks like you."

"So, it's settled. From today on, Dick's our (Gray)son."

And so, the happy family got settled in. Bruce bought a nice suburban home with a small fragment of his billions, and Kathy got settled there as mom and housewife. I hear that's often how it goes for bisexual incestuous veterans who fought crime during their college years. Bruce would commute to the city and do executive stuff in Waynecorp, with Linux in his Iceberg Lounge helping him run stuff. I'll be honest, I have no idea what an executive does. He called dogs brown for eight hours a day, whatever. His work friend was Lucius Fox, and they'd hold cookouts in the backyard sometimes. Little Dick even became fast friends with Lucius' son, Luke. Best friends. They'd play superheroes in the ballpit, just not Batman. And, of course, during the holidays they'd go to grandpa Thomas and gmilf Martha's mansion, wherein Alfred would serve giant carved turkeys and figgy pudding just like his mum used to make, and of course grandpa Bob and grandma Agatha were there too. Though, I don't know where they got the idea that Dick's little girlfriend, Barbie, was a bit too similar to his mom, because I don't go for that type of shenanigans. He liked her because of her personality is all.

So, in conclusion, this is the part of the story wherein everyone is happy. Except Joe Chill, who's unhappy. But, he deserves it.


	12. Chapter 12: Monty Python's Life of Joker

They should built a special, cordoned-off area in hell for Joe Chill. So he can suffer extra-tough torture for all eternity. Meanwhile, other bad people (such as those who don't hate Joe Chill) can go to regular hell. No, I won't chill.

While Bruce and Kathy were being happy Subrucebanites, Joker and Pam moved to a small slum apartment in the barrows. One that looks strangely like my apartment. First floor, because Pam likes to garden. And Joker's oversized dog, Aetius, needs lots of room. They had no kids. The marotte was their kid. And the dog, I guess. I'm totally like that with my dog. Lucky for him, dogbortions aren't legal.

Joker got a job. At Ace chemicals. Security guard? Pam was some sort of scientist, so you'd think she'd bring in the money. I guess she's the one who wears the pants in that relationship, huh? Though, she never wore pants. Or, you know, much. Just leaves and stuff. Would be fun, having the girl walk around the house, with only a fig-leaf covering her pursued, and her wavy red hair covering her boobs, like Eve. Omphalos.

Though she has to go to work and put on work clothes, like a labcoat and nerd glasses. Joker is a bit of Savage Dragon, or has that vibe since he's a superhero but he wears a security guard uniform. Just imagine, Joker, with his white face and bellhat, stuffed under a blue shirt with black clip-on tie and a tacky badge. Hilarious. Maybe the marotte wears a badge too? That would be gold. The Joker arguing with his boss, saying the marotte is also an employee, that it deserves pay and bananfits. The boss just pulls his glasses off, annoyed, like, "here we go again, this guy."

But he's a good security guard. People are always trying to steal chemicals, I've read about it in a documentary called Detective Comics #27. The case of the chemical syndicate. in fact, for extra geek points, the boss' name is Mister Lambert. Hard to believe, back then, the first Batman story ended in a twist. Check it out.

So, Joker's always punching crooks, or swinging the marotte at them to prevent knuckle damage. I knew a guy who once punched a guy so hard, he broke his fist. So, good job, guy. Not a friend.

It could be a show. Runs for seasons. Joker & Pam, happily married. First season's a bit weird, they keep mentioning their rich friends, the Waynes, who are written out after a retool. Seasons two through six are the golden years. The "Joker demands a salary for Marotte" storyline is from season four. Lady Gaga guests stars as Doctor Quinzel, escaping from Arkham. Season 7 jumps the shark, that's the season where Joker starts working on an iPhone app where people can rate deodorants. It sticks out like a sore thumb, and it gets dated super fast. Then in season 8, Joker's neighbor and app partner Ted moves in with them, and the show becomes basically the Ted show. By season 10, the actor who plays the Joker got some big part in a movie (Sherlock Jr.) and doesn't show up, so it's just Ted and Pam, and by the time they start working on these two getting romantically involved, nobody's watching.

"So, you two are divorced?" Bruce asked, sipping his bat-uccino in the coffee shop across Waynecorp tower. Note to self, across only has one C. I always get it wrong. I'm half-illiterate, I swear to G_d.

"I don't even know anymore, Bruce, my friend." said the Joker, dour as usual. "We just drifted apart. Sometimes I feel like she cares more for her ferns than for her man."

"Well trees do get stronger with age." But ferns aren't trees. I could change that, but that would mean me pressing the backspace button, and that's something I'm not prepared to do yet.

And Jokers don't? Bullshit. I mean, a Joker is kind of like a tree. Green hair is like leaves. The boner is wood. Man, I don't know what I'm saying. I miss my wife.

"You have to work on your relationship." said Bruce.

"Do you and Kathy work on yours?" asked the Joker.

"Every night, forty minutes. When Dick's asleep." said Bruce.

"Wait, if Dick's asleep, how can you do it?" asked the Joker.

You see, the thing is, Bruce's son, Dick, is actually Richard, so Dick is short for Richard. But, nowadays, when people hear "dick", they immediately think of penis. But they can't change the kid's name, he's been around for almost eighty years. The fanboys would lose it (hypocrite alert). So they keep him with the silly name. But that leads to lots of jokes, especially since Dick is fighting the Joker. But it's not funny if everyone's doing it. So, for now on, bear with me, we'll keep saying Dick, little Dick, Dick rising, hands wrapped around Dick, she loves Dick, and pretend it isn't hilarious. Otherwise, we won't get anywhere.

"You never had kids." said Bruce. He said it twice.

"I don't care for Rugrats. Nobody's interested in Joker Junior. I'll tell you the truth, we were never happier than when we were fighting." said the Joker.

"Sounds like something out of Dostoevsky Comics." said Bruce, pretentiously.

"No, Bruce, not each other." said the Joker. "Crimefighting." I suppose fighting is a crime, so that could also be repurposed as am Orwellian word. The Joker and Pam could be together, maybe as criminals, maybe as heroes, as long as they have each other.

Well, what does Pam know? Plants. In fact, you could even call her Plamt. And it's no coincidence that a plant's the reason we're in this mess, right? So, I'm a bit worried. Could Pam pull her hand out of reality and torn the rosebush out of me? She knows every vegetable there is, like a somewhat less feminine Kurama from Yu Yu Hakusho. I know what you're thinking - that's stupid, and you're stupid. Don't quit your day job. Well, joke's on you, because my job isn't day.

Still, it's just stupid, and everyone pretends it isn't. I don't care how powerful you are, Pam, or Rhas or Bat-Mite. You're still not real. None of you are real. It's like when Grand Morrison writes a comic book and he says it's a magical sigil, and it'll effect the real world, but it's just a bunch of pages. It's not magic, Ultra comics. It's fun, sure, but I read it and it won't change my life, because Ultra comics isn't real, and neither is Pamela Isley. Yeah she kept her maiden name.

I forgot what I was going to write.

So, Joker and Pam, back together. "We were our happiest when we fought crime." Ah, I remember now. So, here's what you do, Joker. You work at Ace Chemicals. To say nothing of the dog. I never read that book. Sounds pretty good, actually. The name's interesting. Very striking. You get one of those chemicals, and pour it on your wife's garden. Then a turnip or whatever will grow, and she'll eat the turnip, as women often do. And pam! Plant powers. She'll be swinging on vines like Sheena around town, you and her together, partners in crime. Just like in the old days.

"That's a good idea, Bruce." said the Joker.

"My name's not Bruce. I'm Kirk. People always get us confused." said the other guy. Kirk, that's the name. And what could possibly go wrong? I mean, nobody named Kirk could be evil. Right? Not even if they've spent the last ten years skulking in a creepy underground cave, infested by bats, while working on genetic experiments.

So in Joker comes. "Good evening, Bill. Good evening, Ev. Good evening, Frank. Denny, Jim, Neal, asian Jim, Jeff, Jim whose ethnicity I don't know. Joe." Those guys. But he needs to see the boss.

"Oh, great, what's he want now?" asks mister Lambert.

"I have a name, you know." said the Joker. No he doesn't. He's just the Joker.

"Just, go on. Do you want new uniforms, color-coded to fight off Crazy Quilt? You want to hire Ten-Eyed Man as part of the handicap inclusiveness program? Did Roxy Rocket accuse you of sexual harassment?" he asked, annoyed as only fictional bosses can be.

"No, sir, nothing like that." he said, reassuringly. What he wanted was much worse. "I just need to borrow some of our DANGEROUS CHEMICALS so I can ILLEGALLY pour them on my wife's garden, so once she eats the produce she DOESN'T DIE AND INSTEAD DEVELOPS SUPERPOWERS."

"..."

"You're fired."

That's never how it happens in real life, huh? If only there was a way to do things even though the law doesn't allow them. Like, "breaking" the law in some way. Like, committing a crime. Something a criminal would do. A criminal like...Joker.

Easy peasy, Jokerman gets through all his friends, the guards. "I ain't going to fight you, Joker." Good, because you're friends. And because you'd lose. So I get a bottle with green bubbly stuff. Gooey. Looks radioactive. Something in vaults of which people fall. Turn into supervillains. And he pours the thing on her zucchini patch.

"Joker, babe?" she arrives home. Ted died in a car crash or something. "I thought you'd be at work."

"I decided to leave early." he said. Not technically a lie. He could stay there, just, you know, the cops were arriving. But the decision to leave was all his. It always is.

"Right, I wanted to talk to you. But, oh, my zucchinis! They're finally ripe! Fast, too." she said with a proud mother's smile. Fastests Zucchinis alive, that's for sure.

"You want any?" she asks, chopping them down. The 'mom' metaphor isn't perfect.

"No, thanks, I don't like eating organic food, it irks me out thinking that there aren't preservatives so the food will rot inside me." he says.

"Suit yourself. More for me. CHOMP CHOMP CHOMP." She masticated. The great masticator.

Now, I dunno if those vegetables were bad, but they did turn her green. Not the hair, though. Green is usually bad, but maybe people were just biased. Green means go. Pammy Isley went.

So, good for the Joker. I mean it, I'm happy for him. He's got a green wife, a partner, to fight crime. But where are all the villains? It's almost like crime is illegal. I mean, Dent is Dead. Or, you know, one of his faces is. Teach is locked up in a padded cell. Joe Chill is a pile of manure. But he always was, difference is, now he's in jail. Attempted billionairecide has its downsides, including the fact that rich people can bend the system against you.

Seems like we're going to have to start importing our supervillains from Mexico.


	13. Chapter Baker's Dozen

"Who's the cutest cuddliest little kitty in the whole world?" asked Pammy while trying to scratch the kitten's head. With no success, might I add.

"Just leave her, when she doesn't want to be touched she might as well be made of fog." Linux said. Trust me, he would know.

"But she's so cute! She deserves hugs." Pammy said looking at the kitten, who licked her left paw with a sandpapery tongue. Trust me, Linux would know.

"It's good that you understand that." the Kitten said "Though hugs are only a small fraction of that which I deserve." she was referring to the whole of reality. Cats aren't known for being modest.

"I must say, it's good to see you two back in uniform." said Linux, rather Rorschachly.

"Well, Pammy doesn't wear much..." the Joker said with a shrug of his elbows. I mean shoulders. Elbows can't shrug.

"I think that's for the people's benefit." Linux said, his marxist streak striking. "I'm more worried about her showing a name than skin. Green though it might be."

"Well, Pamela's a common name indeed." said the Joker. "You think people might make the connection?"

Gee, what do you think? There's a botanist named Pamela Isley (she kept her maiden name) with green skin, and a superheroine that controls plants named Pammy, with green skin. No mask or anything. Probably just a coincidence, Pammy doesn't wear glasses.

"I think you should just go with something classic, like Poison Ivy." suggested Linux, duckduckgoing common superhero names.

"She's not poison, though, she's sweet." the kitten said after a lick. See, I knew she'd warm up to her. She's not a jerk. Just independent. It's a good thing.

"Thanks, kittycat, you're not so bad yourself." Pammy answered.

"Meowth, that's right." said the cat.

"Just go with, Plantgirl." he suggests "I mean, we are real vigilantes, we're more interested in putting superstitious, cowardly criminals behind bars, not in having cool-sounding names." Yeah, tell that to Deathstroke. Though he's more of a bad guy.

Criminals behind bars, though this one's a bit vertically-challenged. You could leave the jail cell unlocked, she wouldn't be able to reach the handle. That sounds a bit confusing, jail cell doors don't have handles, but modern jails don't have "cells" like the ones you see on TV. They're more like schools. Which explains a lot.

"So, that's the big idea?" asked Joker. "No pun intended. A ten-year old girl? I was hoping to take down a giant crime lord, not someone who can b foiled by a high shelf."

""She's not ten. She's older than you and I. And Plantgirl and kitten." Linux explained "She's forty-two. Has reverse progeria, meaning she ages at one fourth the normal speed." Gee, sounds great, Linux, where do I sign up?

"Shh, kitten" Linux scolded "The poor woman suffered a lot. She was a child star in Mexico for twenty years. She's an adult yet people treat her like a toddler. So she turns to crime. Who'll ever suspect sweet little Baby Doll?" he asks. "Sweet little Baby Doll's the biggest drug lord in the American Southwest."

"That's pretty messed up." Pammy said. "But it's understandable that someone with such a made-up condition would develop a light case of insanity."

"Insanity's just the start of it." Linux said, showing the trio pictures of the tot's mughshots. "She wants to build an army. Already broke the Mad Hatter out of Arkham, and doctor Quinzel managed to hitch a ride. Her old henchman Waylon Jones is following them around, and she's got good Lady Shiva on the payroll."

"Oh, great, doctor Quinzel" Plantgirl rolls her blue eyes. "That old clichè."

Yeah tell me about it, Pam. Old cliche. I'm going to take care of her right now. I don't like the name Quinzel. She's blonder than Paris and just as deserving to drown in piss. So she goes to the public library. There she is, just got out of Arkham, still in her freaking orange jumpsuit and pigtails.

"Hello." she said her her annoying Joisy accent, to the library, who already has enough of that shit. "Do you have any books about how to get the Joker to fall in love with you?"

"Yes, you must be looking for the seducing Joker sections, the last three shelves on the second floor from the right, the entire third floor and the first four shelves on the fourth." the librarian explained. "The seminal work on the subject is probably Jokers are from Mars, Harleys want some Penis", by doctor John Jones. No relation to Waylon. Though they're both green guys who look like they should be played by black guys.

The bad doctor starts reading in silence, when suddenly she hears a crash through the window. That gives her an idea.

"That's it! It's a sign. This creature in the window is my spirit animal - by dressing up as it, I'll finally win Mistah Jay's heart. I shall become - - a moth!"

And that's how Killer Moth got started.

Back to the good guys now.

"So, it's basically me and Plantgirl against the five of them?" asked Joker "Hardly a stretch. Especially since we're talking a 4-foot tall female, an old pedophile and a nutjob who's in love with me."

"No, Killer Moth's not part of the team anymore, she plays by her own rules now." Linux explains. Badass. You know who who you sound like, Linux? The Calculator. Yeah, quality character right there. And Calendar Man? Spooky. I preferred the Metric calendar, anyway. And you should too.

"Yeah, and Lady Shiva's no pushover. She's jumping around with a billion swords and stuff like one of those Gerudo girls from Ocarina of Time." Man, I hated that part, where you're in Gerudo Valley. I never got past it. I just stopped playing, I was so obsessed but I couldn't find that last carpenter. Years later, I played the game again. Turns out I was wearing the hover boots so I just hovered through the hole that led to his door. I got past it then, but I was a grown-ass man, so the magic was gone. Those last two dungeons were basically a giant "whatever" by then. Best videogame of all times, sure. For you.

"Not to mention the crocodile." said the kitten. "Steve Irwin isn't around anymore. He was murdered by an Aquaman villain. And he kinda looked like Aquaman... Really makes you think."

"Sure, sure, I'm getting less worried by the minute. My overconfidence won't bite me in the ass, so I'll just take the wife, fight that crime and be back in time for tea and cake."

"You two'd better get started ASAP then." The Linux said, eyeing his multiple computer screens and android devices, like the nerd we all know he is. "Every criminal in Gotham city used to be afraid of the Joker. Nowadays, they're more afraid of La Muñequita." And I'll tell you, there's something unsettling about the sight of a child with a boater hat.

Plantgirl got them a giant dandelion to float over the city looking for crime, and the criminals who crime them. The Jokopter was in the pawn. Turns out unemployment doesn't pay very well.

"Ah there they are." Joker said "Let's land here, babe." and down they were. Renée Montoya was fistycuffing with a couple of baddies. They were threatening to punch her in the face, but she didn't have one. Should've borrowed one from Dent. I just solved the Question.

Joker speaks the clubber language, so he Clubs the criminals like Clubber Lang. Plantgirl wraps them both into a giant spearmint thing, and the rest manage to escape. Escape to hell, but at least they won't go back to the station.

"Thank you for your help, good citizens." said the copper-skinned copper. She's hot too. In fact, I'm writing the story. All the girls are hot. Except Baby Doll, coz that's creepy. "I'll be taking this filth back to the station for processing."

"I don't think so, lady Fedora." Plangirl put a hedgemaze between the cop and the Joker "We're doing our own personal investigation."

"Suit yourselves, pretty chayote." she said "I'm not one to stop superheroes from weeding out crime."

"That's racist against weeds..." Plantgirl pouted. You'll get used to it, green. I know I did.

So, talk time. Come on grab your friends. We'll go to very distant lands. Lands like the mystical Tell-me-where-La-Muñequita`s-hideout-is-land, and perhaps you'll get a nice ticket to Nobody-gets-hurt-ville. Now, now, Joker, you're not going to hurt those nice young men, are you? You are? You aren't?

"I'm not going to hurt you." he said. That's refreshing, I was feeling worried. "But the knife will. And I will be pushing the knife in you." Oh, wait, it was all a joke. That's not what I expected. Sucks.

"We don't know where she's hiding. We don't even take orders from her!" the thug said, thuggily.

"He's telling the truth." Plantgirl said. Women know these things.

"Tell me, or I will murder you." threatened Joker, marotte in hand.

"I can't tell what I don't know." the thug begged.

Side note: Joe Chill = fecal matter.

"We're not getting anywhere. Leave them here for the cop." Joker left them for the cop. "That girl could be anywhere. Hell, she could be hiding in plain sight in the Gotham playground and if I went over there, I'd be the one in trouble."

But you can still find her, can't you? STOP! DON'T READ ANY FURTHER! How can the Joker find La Muñequita? If you know the answer, keep reading below.

"Well, that was easy." said the Joker, taking off the rawhide vest and storing the stain remover back into the hollow heel of his boot. "And I only had to kill seven goats."

"You'd better not make me regret this, Jester." the crime queen said, in a posh interbellum accent. She really did look ten. It's funny, and creepy. They couldn't make a live-action movie about her. Who would play her? They can't have a little girl kill people left and right. Guess that's why we read comics. For the art.

The girl was flanked by a Mad Hatter on the left, and the crocodile on the right. On a leash. Snappy. Crocs have cold blood, you know, and usually in a pulp adventure means they'll kill without blinking an eye. But in his case, it meant his blood temperature really was low. Especially in the magic giant sewers of Gotham City. So mystical, so impossible. That's where the gang was hiding.

"So, you're a bad guy now?" asked Teach next to the girl. I mean, woman. Man, that'll be hard to get used to. He's the Mad Hatter. He calls her Alice. As far as I know, he even thinks she's Alice. Yeah, that's your dream, huh, Jarvis? A woman's mind in a child's body. Sick fuck. But, I said mind, meaning she has a brain, so she won't be fucking you.

"You know me. I play by my own rules." Joker said. "I'm evil alright." he kept flip-flopping. Luckily, this time

Oh wait! I have forgotten Shiva! Lady Shiva was there too, behind Alice. I mean Baby Doll. The girl. Why did you lie to me? Well, I said there were four. Crocodile, Hatter, Beedee and the Lady. Shiva and her swords. exotic.

it was all a ruse. Act like a bad guy, and you get an invitation to the gang. Why do criminals still trust the Joker. You know he's unpredictable. You never get the crazy guy to do something important in the gang. Not that I know anything about that. No, not me. I'm mister by-the-book.

Speaking of book, remember when Bruce Wayne was a character? I do. He hasn't shown up ever since he turned out not to be him but rather Kirk. But I always get my batmen confused. Kirk's flapping around right now. The Batman. Beware. Bruce? And what of Bruce. He's got his sights on the girl, the woman, Baby Doll. I feel like I'm in a Russ Meyer movie when I call her that. Could flood a valley with Alices.

But, I think I'm Beyond the Valley of the Dolls now. Bruce's got his scope on her.

"If you're so evil, eat this cat." That's directed at the Joker. Had to be something Teach said. Hatters gonna Hat. He's insane. Not the fun way, the creepy, demure way.

"I'm not going to eat a cat. My friend is dating a cat, so, I can't."

"What was your last crime then?" she asked. The Hatter salamied away, letting her speak. I know what's up with him. Hear me out.

Mercury poisoning. Makes your hair red, and makes the hatter crazy. It's true. Just ask Linux. Someone gets exposed to Quicksilver, they're bound to go insane. I guess that's what happened to the Scarlet Witch. Was she in Gone with the Wind? I don't wanna mention it if it wasn't her, but I already did.

"My last crime was an enormity perpetrated against a victim." the Joker ex-plained. "A lovely young wife, who was innocently eating lunch, unaware that I had evily poisoned her munchables."

That's so evil!

"And how do I know that? Because that wife was my wife!"

Dun Dun DUN!


	14. Chapter 14: The Giant Chicken Comic Book

You did what? Baby please I can explain. Oh no you fucking can't. You turned me green, man, green like a Martian, if there's life on Mars, now it's ashes to ashes, funky to funky, we know Joker Tom's a junkie. He even had the costume in that romp remember. Well, you and I are splitsville, Joker. Baby please don't go. Oh I'm going and I'll tell you more, I'm going to the other side, and I'm sending you to the other side, with my friends on the other side. That's Alice and Hatta, the Crocodile and Lady Shiva. Now there are five of us since you made me evil and evil is what I am now. And when you get to hell you give the devil a hell-o and tell them Plantgirl sent you, because I mightn't be poison Ivy but you poisoned me and I'm green with envy, no woman is an Isley, but this Eisley's gonna make your skin a wretch of hives and that ain't no joke, so take your toke and your marotte and get ready to fight and fright a ficus because I know you're a plant and you're bad to me to because you're good and I'm a bad rotten apple that doesn't fall far from the tree because I was red and now I'm ready and I was green but now I'm green. But ripe.

She's evil now is what I'm saying. I you know the Joker, you know five-on-one is what he calls a nice saturday night, but thing is, he might not "live" this saturday night because there's a crocodile involved. Did you know crododiles are named after Crocodilopolis? Not the other way around, I swear to G_d. Crocodile G_d. I keep typing crododile, I don't know what's wrong with me. And Joker's not too keen on hurting girls, especially his ex wife. (Fast divorce. I know.) And the little girl. I know she's not a girl, but she is little and looks the part so his brain has trouble telling it apart. None may kill a cat. I wouldn't hurt a child, so that's pre much the perfect costume. Lady Shiva's a menace by herself, but even if she's slugging it tonight, I'm not counting on ignoring her. Ignore a woman at your own peril. Though that's what I'm doing right now.

Mad Hatter's a tool. And he won't hurt you. But you know you won't hurt him either. Because you're not wired that way. Trust me, he deserves it. He's basically what, La Muñequita's butler now. He's bellowing poems as you fight them. How doth a little crocodile improve each shiny scale? A steady diet of Jokers, it seems. I need help.

No, not that help. We're doing this Mexico thread now, so it's convenient that Killer Moth's costume looks like that known Mexican superhero. There she is.

"Leave my Mistah Jay alone!" she squeals, Jerseyly. She has a gun. But it's a Moth Gun. We're talking a chick who fights crime with old-timey rollerskates, thigh-high rainbow boots and daisy dukes. Her t-shirt has "Daddy's Little Mothra" written on it. And the antennae. (the shirt's purple too because it's Elseworlds)

"Blooming heck, this bird looks like a suicide girl, wot?" I noticed Baby Doll wasn't sounding british enough, so I wrote the most british thing I could. Back to our regular programming.

"Get out of here, Killer Moth. Grownups are talking." said the Joker.

"Was I bad moth? Is daddy gonna SPANK ME?" she asked. It's as skeevy as it sounds.

"I have no time to deal with a psychiatrist who thinks she's a supervillain right now. I have to deal with a psychiatrist who thinks he's a supervillain right now." he means the Mad Hatter. but I guess they're handing out supervillain degrees in Miskatonic Medschool. You, are useless. So why don't you bludgeon him since I can't?

"Do you want me to kill myself for you? I'll fucking kill myself! Give me attention daddy! Wah!" she needs meds. Cuckoo. Just, punch Teach.

No, no, no, Baby Doll won't allow it. And there's a plant girl in there too. He's your manservant, Beed, why do you even care. I mean, I care about Alfred, too, but he's just basically holding a tray while I use the BATCOMPUTER in the cave. Speaking of which, what's Batman doing. Hasn't shown up yet. Remember him for next chapter.

Joker's entangled in his ex's vines, And Killer Moth's pouncing teach. Enough play. I know he's on my side. And that's why Linux lied for me. To him. Babe?

"Yes?" she asked.

"Kill the Crod." I told her. We'll pay the fine. So she swung her sword and sliced the crocodile (I did it again.) And that's when she took her mask out. Black's a lovely hair color for you, even if you're still my redhead. If Spidey can marry a ginger, why can't I?

No more crocodiles, Teach is, hm, let's say, subdued, and Lady Shiva's actually Lady Wayne. She learned swordplay in Iraq. And where am I? Aiming. I am Deadshot, you know. Got my finger on the trigger and a rocket in my pocket, and my scope on Dolly's head. But I'm not going to kill a child. Yes, a child. An innocent child at that. Just aim it.

Ploft. Right where I wanted. The bullet hits straw. Her hat goes flying away,into the air. Off with her head? No, quite the contrary, the Queen of Hearts. Falls down into the floor, a hole in the middle. Baby Doll freezes. She screams and cries.

"What the blog?" asked Killer Moth. "Wasn't she a bad egg?"

I'll set things straight. It all went according to plan. She's not a criminal at all, or even an adult. See, criminals don't speak spanish.

"Yo quiero mi papá! Donde estoy?" se dice la niña.

"Calmate! No te molestas, my esposa te cuidará." Bruce explained in spanish. Kathy wrapped her coat around the little girl and took her away from all the crocodile blood.

"The Mad Hatter had long been experimenting with mind control." he explained. The Mad Hatter was being turned into mush by the killer Hottie. Mothgirl. Also the tips of her pigtails are died like a rainbow too. We're talking full-on porn fetish outfit. "There never was a Baby Doll. Just an innocent girl he brainwashed into believing she was an adult. With reverse progeria (not a real thing by the way)."

"Then why did she help him out of Arkham, and in doing so helped my stalker escape too?" Though, you know, I am single now. No, Joker, don't stick your marotte in crazy!. Man, she's going to town on him. I bet if I tell that girl to circle a square, she'll run around Ben Stein.

"The Hatter's been doing that for years. Decades, even. He's probably got a bunch of other Alices running around, to help him out of the nuthouse or go grocery shopping. The hat's the thing, once they're wearing the hat, they're under complete control." Bruce explained.

Also, remember the Mad Hatter is a pedophile, so, things are getting icky now. Good thing Killer Moth is beating him to death. Slowly.

"And you knew it?" asked the Joker. to the Wayne.

"I had an inkling. The hatter could play dumb and pretend to be a henchman of his own pawn. Her story's thin as a hairstrand, so me and the wife investigated. We couldn't attack her until we knew for sure she was the bad guy, and it turns out she wasn't. So we used a pawn of our own." said Bruce.

"Yours truly?" asked the Joker.

"Exactly. You know when Killer Moth attacked the Hatter, Baby Doll stood in her tracks. She couldn't abide her puppeteer getting hurt. If he's scum to her, she wouldn't mind. So, Kathy knew what was what, and we struck." Bruce explained again.

"And what about Pa-Plantgirl?" asked the Joker. Also part of the plan(t)? Frayed knot.

She's got Killer Moth in her twines now, stop her from hammering the hatter to death. Yeah, her gun shoots hammers. Nobody deserves that kind of treatment. Okay, maybe one guy. You guys know who I'm talking about. That's right, Joe Chill.

"Joker, you are a cad and a half. You made me green and I'm still mad, but I do love you, and if Bruce and Kathy can make their marriage work even though they're cousins and their parents have been kidnapped, so can we." Aww, that's cute.

Wait, what?


	15. Chapter 15: Batman

Chapter Fifteen: Batman

So, Batman decided to kidnap my parents? And Alfred? And my aunt and uncle. And my in-laws? How does someone kidnap five people in broad daylight? Also, who's Batman?

"Deadshot, can you hear me?" asked Linux. "It's me, Linux." Told you.

"Yeah, I hear you loud and clear." said Bruce. "But I'm dealing with a bad case of 'kidnapped family' over here so let's make it quick shall we?"

Oh if only kitten liked it quick too. Would make Linux's life much more satisfying. It'd also help if she liked it short, bald, fat, long-nosed and smelly.

"So, you remember Kirk Langstrom, the oncologist who studied under your father, performed Deadshot Lady's surgery?" asked Linux. No hard feelings, buddy. Not my fault you're ridiculously grotesque.

"You mean the anxious pale guy who lived in their basement and was trying to cure cancer?" asked Bruce. Yes, the very same. "Whatever happened to him?"

"Well, he's Batman now. Got bitten by a bat, the saliva got mixed with the free radicals he was experimenting with. a chain of mutations soon followed. He turned into a monster. Half man, half bat. He flies and drinks blood." Linux explained, then closed the DC wikia tab.

"North-American bats don't bite." said Captain Nitpick, later renamed Kathy.

"He had been studying bats from all over the world to figure out possible leukemia cures and he had a South-American specimen for research. Hematophages can directly process blood so he figured like cured like." Like a vaccine. Cancer vaccine. That's what passes for science in this fanfic.

"So, now he's evil?" asked Bruce as they searched for the fam.

"No, he's too stupid to be evil. More like hungry, really." Hungry...for BLOOD.

"So he's basically a vampire with werewolf powers, except instead of wolf, it's bat?"

God dammit, Killer Moth, get out of here. You're universally despised. Joker, shoo her.

"Sorry, blondie. I'm married, you see." He shows her the One Ring. "Only room for one woman in my life."

"Married?" she squeals. "To this...ginger? You know, gingers have no souls. Is that why you like her? If I had no soul, would you look at me, for one second longer? I will sell my soul! I swear it, my life is the second most important thing to me, but it's still a puddle of piss compared to your most casual desire. You, Joker, are the only deity I respect and believe in. So I shall sell my soul to you. I am your property and your devotee." Killer Moth said. "You are the air that I breathe, except so much more. If I had to give either one up, I would asphyxiate to death. But my death is welcome if it makes you happy. Jokerhur Akhbar!"

Let's just leave her. She's flailing herself for having dared to think about something other than the Joker, one time, ten years ago.

"Man, you must have the cock of a tapir." mentioned Kathy.

"Not on me, no." answered the Joker.

Linux.

"I'm on the line, Deadshot."

"Where did the Batman take my family?" asked Bruce. Alfred is family. Wife's uncle. That counts, if only barely.

"I've got my kitten sniffing around, with her nose." said Linux "she'll get the 'giant bat' scent in no time."

"Well get into the Dodge Dart, search for guano or whatever." Four of them, remember. Dick's having a sleepover at Gordons' house. Losing his virginity to Barbie. High five, Dick! He's gonna bang her so hard, she's gonna need a wheelchair.

Okay. Wait. So, what happened was, I changed computers, so my old one was in a whole other place, so I didn't have access to the file, so I had to put the fanfic on a break. It's back now, with a vengeance. Let's see, where did I stop…? Linux and the Kitten, that was it.

"Kitten, you hear me?" asked the penguinesque nerd.

"Yeah. Didn't like it, but I heard it. JACKASS." she scowled.

"What's up your ass, cat?" he asked, annoyed.

"You, that's what. You treat me like a servant. Or worse, a pet." Pets are animal slaves, you know. Just ask PETA.

"You really want to fight, now of all times?" he asked "Bruce's family's in trouble."

"Yeah, and why is that my problem? Why is it your problem, even? You treat that jock like he's your best friend, I'm pretty sure he's got more love to the stuff he looks at before flushing." Damn, Kitten, that's harsh.

"What are you going on, about? Bruce's always been my friend. You, on the other hand, I don't know… You're a cat, but you're kind of a bitch." He said. You get it, right? Cat, bitch, as in female dog.

"Why the hell should I care about you?" she hisses. Cat. "Freaking Linux. Limousine Liberal, got billions of dollars in the bank and acts like his life's so hard because G_d did a number on your face. You don't know what the meaning of hardship is."

"Like you do? You would have, for sure, had I not taken you off the streets and into my house. You'd probably be run over by some Yahoo, or mauled by a dog. This is how you repay me, Kitten, nice." he shakes his head. Beak.

You know, that was a long way coming. You look at the two – Linux is ugly, repulsive, unattractive, and just bad overall. He smokes, that's usually bad. Fat too. Wasn't always, but time with it's stealing steps, stole his youth away and in return gave him pounds. Not British pounds, imperial. I use kilograms. It's just better. Scientists use kilograms, so there.

Kitten, meanwhile, was cute. Like, very cute. All cats are cute, sure, but, you know, gotta love her. It was a weird couple. I mean, they could sell it on TV, but one day they'd be interviewing the actress who plays Kitten and she'd be asked "so, you play Linux's girlfriend, is there anything going on between the two of you FOR REAL?". And she'd shiver in disgust. Would end her career, maybe. But, it would be a knee-jerk reaction. Can't control it. Even death's better than Linux. Let's be honest, now.

I mean.

I mean, let's be honest. Girls like Kitten don't end up with guys like Linux. Not happily, anyway. You might see a gold digger who hates going to bed with that abomination, but loves the nice shoes and dresses. Or a girl who decided to give the fat geek a chance, and feels great. Except for the detail that, she doesn't love him.

Thing is, Kitten doesn't love anyone except Kitten. That's pretty much the only thing the two of them had in common. And this is what she said:

"You took me off the street, sure. You mean, so you could OWN me? Piece of shit. You fat fuck. I was better off living in the streets, sleeping under a car, eating fish spines out of the garbage. Dumpster diving, now that's the life. Well, better than being with you. I'd rather go down on a garbage can than go down on you. At least there's some dignity in that".

"If this is what you think, then just get out. Get out and die, die a worthless death, fitting for a worthless creature. I saved your life, and it seems you're not thankful. So give it back." Linux answered "Do the world a favor."

And, leave she did. And die she did. But that comes later.

"Well Clark. I mean Bruce." Linux said to the phone. "Guess I can't help you find your folks. No more kittens."

Too late to worry about that, Linux. Bruce's already at the hospital.


	16. Chapter 16: The Bat and the Man

Chapter Sixteen: The Bat And the and the Man

So, genius Kirk, AKA Batman, kidnapped Bruce and Kathy's family, and took them to the hospital he used to work at. I mean, the hospital at which he used to work. Not too clever, since that's also where Thomas works. He put up a fight, sure, but he's not a young man any more. And Alfred, fuck, Alfred wasn't a young man even when he was a young man. No match for a man with the powers of a bat.

"Dad, mom!" Kathy rushed in. "What happened, we just saw the Batman fly off."

"What are you wearing?" asked Aunt Agatha. Wow, nice, it's not like she just saved your life. It's just a Lady Shiva costume. But what about Bruce? Deadshot.

"You had to find out sooner or later, dad." Bruce said "I am Deadshot. Vigilante. No, not THE vigilante" (though that book where he had to save a little girl from a pervert was pretty good. People say it's crap, edgy eighties. Fanboys, I tell you. Work of art. If they put that shit wrapped around a hardcover and called it a "Graphique Nouvelle" people would eat it up. Death to them) "I fight crime."

"I had a feeling. Not because Alfred told me. But, because you are you." Thomas answered. A happy family, through and through. Time to fight Batman, though. I guess Brucey doesn't need the costume anymore. Everyone knows, right? Take off the mask, the goggles do nothing. Just a guy with guns. And his wife with swords. Joker andPlantgirl still have their costumes on, though. Nobody knows who the Joker is. But what a nice guy.

Where, though, is the Bat? Batman, or Manbat, for those of you who didn't get it. He can fly, flapping his wings. It makes no sense but it's allowed because it's fanfiction. Though it'd make no sense in comics, and it's allowed there too. Bruce and Manbat are cool though. Always liked that dynamic. Neal Adams character, too. He's SUPER SANE.

If you can fly, but you're not a bird, you're a plane. It's not a plane, so he's a jailbird. Call Ed Nygma (the brain in a jar. Nowadays he's got his own little tank to ride on. Still a brain. Good for him. Is he a goodguy? I never settled on that.) Ed says: "Batman's going to jail."

Landed on the wrong monopoly square? Sorry, you wish. He's going to Blackgate prison, going to release all the prisoners. Like Bane in the movie. Batman had a Tumblr on that one. Pretty good stuff.

They're all out. The city's in chaos. It's not okay. Everyone's fighting.

That, now, that is the most interesting scene in the world, right? A proper riot, not that BS you see on TV. No man's land. They're wrecking the city. What could be more interesting than that?

I'll tell you what. One man. Or, "man", the jury's still out. Who got out. You all know who I'm talking about. I'm not going to say the name. You know.

So he gets out. Joe Chill. That's right, Joe "Piece of Chit" Chill. And he wants revenge. I guess years and years of eating sloppy Joes and Chilli on the prison cafeteria can make a guy bitter. I could swear I used that one before. It's great. I'm just writing, and sometimes I miss the best. Just, you know, imagine you've read that one before. When it made sense.

Joe Chill hates the Waynes. Bruce, Martha, and mostly Thomas. So he goes to Wayne manor. To rob it. Now, you gotta remember, this is the guy who has no idea Bruce is anything but a playboy. Why would Bruce know anything about the monster who set him free? He's probably to busy swimming in his money bin like Uncle freaking Scrooge. That's what rich people do, right?

Everyone's together, downtown. Criminals and the crimes they commit. People are punching away. Bruce shoot down the more dangerous ones, while Kathy, his wife, fights three thugs at once with her swords. Wait, just three? It's not like I have to draw this shit. Three thousand. And she's winning.

Meanwhile, Joker's swinging his marotte. This is the live for him. He lives for battle. He's singing "ding ding ding goes the trolley" and he's breaking skulls, it's like something out of 300. He still won't smile. He's like George's mom. Never went "ha". Good thing he's got a wife, who's the color of a dollar. I had a joke here, but you'll never know what it is. Backspace, bitches. She's got flowers all over town, giant roots holding people up and twisting like something out of H.P. Lovecraft. Good thing she's on our side, huh?

Harvey Dent is dead, somewhere.

Ed Nygma, the Golden Riddler, is also part of the fun. He's a brain in a jar, but the jar's inside a tank. And it's a gold tank. Gotta use your brain, gooey. Know where and whom to shoot. Know when to use "who" and when to use "whom". I know I don't know. Don't kill civilians. Though it's hard to tell them apart, now.

Alfred's still got it. He's old, but the soldier's still alive. Gotta protect the masters. And his family. It gets kind of blurry, but Bruce is basically his son, right? (Hey, Martha, remember that time you and I went kind of crazy?) That never happened. But, does it matter. Nothing ever happened, after all. We're not real. Son, or nephew. Niece's wife, at least. He knows how to fight, big Al. You taught him well. And you know how to fight too. You taught you well.

Aunt Agatha's hitting people with her umbrella. She's a badass, right? I mean, she wasn't that big a character, not after Alfred came back from the dead (he had turned evil, believe it or not), but, can you imagine, if he hadn't? We'd be watching Justice League movies where she controls the Batplane remotely. Who would play her? (don't tell me – Marisa Tomei). Crazy world we could be living in. Go aunt Agatha!

Uncle Bob was there too. Can't forget about him. He's always there, can't have Batman without him. Not that Bruce is Batman. Kirk Langstrom is Batman. More on that later.

Who's coming out to join us? Robin! And his girlfriend Barbara? Not Batgirl, exactly. Deadshotgirl? Doesn't matter. Her costume's green and purple. Like a vertical purple line...and a domino mask. They just need to be a part of it, don't overthink it.

In a corner, Baby Doll's slicing people up with a dagger. She's just defending herself, but, I can't let her die. So she's one of the good guys.

Sounds like a big group, huh? The good guys. Bruce, Kathy, Joker, Plantgirl, Dad, Alfred, Aunt Agatha, Golden Riddler, Uncle Bob, Robin, Barbara and Baby Doll. Twelve people. But, it's twelve people against twelve thousand. So, they're in trouble. And that's why it was so easy for Joe Chill to break into the mansion. He could've used a pile of corpses to get through the walls. Like in Zombie World? He goes in (It's piles of corpses all the way down) and looks for a gun. He finds one, it's cool.


	17. Chapter 17: Gotham is Cool

Chapter Seventeen: Gotham is Cool

I'm cold as ice. I've got water running in my veins instead of blood. I'm so cool, when I cough, people nearby get colds.

The thing is, how exactly does a weapon that freezes things work? It's a pretty egregious violation of thermodynamics. Is it like… I dunno, an entropy-altering device? Let's just say it, it's freaking magic. Where does the heat go? Ask Jack Black, and his talking motorcycle voiced by Owen Wilson (I know I made that joke before, but, seriously, check Heat Vision and Jack out).

I never got why Captain Cold doesn't just sell that gun. Shoot the water at the north pole, solve global warming. You really make more money robbing banks? Jackass, I bet you have issues. Joe Chill, he's not like that. He aims the gun and doesn't stop pulling the trigger. People are fighting. Were fighting. Now they're freezing. Suddenly, it's Winter in Gotham. Suddenly it's an Ice Age in Gotham. Kittens are dying of exposure. Linuxes are dying of suicide (aww, cute, couldn't live without his girlfriend?) Suddenly, Batman's dying of a rifle shot.

That's right, Bruce shot him. He never misses. Can't miss. An elephant rifle's powerful enough to kill a werebat, so down he goes. It's freezing, not exactly spandex weather. Even Night Owl wore a winter costume when he went to Veidt's hideout. I DID IT! No, the rifle doesn't shoot elephants.

Bruce waddles through the 20 inches of snow, trying to get to the dead Batman. He pulls out his knife, and starts carving.

"And I thought they smelled bad...from the outside." he said, covering himself with the pelt of the Batman. It's pretty much mandatory that you say that after you cut an animal open for heat.

I am the Batman now. He's the "Bat-Man", you see, because he's wearing a giant bat's fur. They were fighting criminals, but now, the good guys and the bad guys have joined forces, to fight hypothermia.

"We need to hide. Let's go inside." she says. Who? Uh… Kathy I guess. Sure thing, cutie, inside what? I want to be inside you. Even though you're not a redhead anymore. Dyejob. We need to go down, downtown. You know what provides heat? Mulch? You'd never think it, but, like, a giant pile of mulch gets super hot. Plantgirl, you're on. Make a plant igloo. With a giant oak, we can protect ourselves from the cold within. Winter is here. That zombie dragon was pretty badass too.

So, Joe Chill, the frozen turd, he walks into town, pointing his freeze ray at everything. It won't run out of fuel, after all. In the Batman and Robin movie, the fuel was diamonds. So, let's say he got all the diamonds in Wayne Manor. He just...keeps...shooting. Then, down from the rooftop, comes a creature of the night. Bruce Wayne. We only see his shadow, he looks like a bat. He's a man, though. So, like a Bat...man.

Joe Chill is a criminal, and we both know that doesn't mean skeptic and brave. He starts to leave. "Not so fast, scum" he ties the moron's ankles together with a bat-rope, but Joe Chill is still armed. He's shooting everywhere. Freezing things. The city looks like Santa's Village. Bat-Mite's one of the elves? Nah, that doesn't work. Everyone comes out to help, but it's like a frozen hell. Joe Chill is Lucifer, flapping his wings so hard, he's freezing the ground which keeps us all here. People are fighting, pickaxes and mattocks. Our twelve heroes are fighting them back, but they end up looking kinda cool.

It's a proper ice sculpture. Made out of our heroes. Kathy's frozen in mid-air, like in Mortal Kombat (you know, when Sub-Zero freezes a guy while he's jumping, the statue doesn't fall. Doesn't make sense, but that's not even the real issue – people can't freeze their enemies through martial arts). Robin, Baby Doll, mom and dad. Riddler's already gone. Brain Freeze. He wasn't much alive to begin with, but now he's fully dead. Only ones who managed to dodge all of it, Batman and the Joker. Joe Chill, nature's killer. Joker's just keeping him busy. They fight, they jump, it goes on forever.

I have no idea what's going on. But, I am noticing one thing. Joker's fighting defensively, and that's not very much like it. What's the big idea, big J?

"Joker, come on!" Batman shouts "Get him! Do you even feel the cold?"

"Oh, trust me, Bruce, I can feel it." Joker says "As much as I can feel this city's gone to the nothings. More people died here today than at any other time in human history. This is a tragedy, is all." Joker says.

And you can take that to the bank. You've already lost, Batboy. Might as well let Joe Chill freeze you too. At least then people will have that ice sculpture to admire a thousand years from now. "And this here was the Batman, a comic book character, much appreciated by homosexuals and illiterate fanfiction writers". That sort of stuff.

But, Batman never gives up. He can't. Doesn't matter if his parents are alive or dead, or in that sort of freeze ray limbo. He fights on. Who's here to help?

Guess. No, seriously, who could?

Harleen. Harley Q. Q as Qiller Moth. Q Who, that was a great episode. Eh, who am I kidding, I didn't even watch it. Tear it down, Bruce.

Killer Moth, dressed for action, but not for winter. Kinky socks and glasscutters, but she can Hammer Joe. That's our girl! I knew you'd be useful after all, Killer Moth. I knew it all along. Shut up, Bruce, tear it off. TEAR IT OFF!

He doesn't get it. She talks, and her voice is also glass' natural enemy.

"I got him, daddy! I got him, kill him, we can save everyone (except your wife) we can be heroes!"

What are you waiting for, Joker? You're not bruce, you're no bat, you don't have to tear it off. Kill him Jokerboy. Kill him, Jack. You are Jack, you are Mark, you are Heath, and Heat's the enemy of Chill, You are Caesar, I guess nowadays you're other people I don't even know. You are Jared and Joaquin, and you aren't Conrad but everyone thinks you should be. You can do it. Why won't you do it. Kill Chill Volume One!

He doesn't do it. "He won't do it." says Chill. Told you. Why not? If I wasn't so sleepy, or if I was sleepier, I would. Gotta tear it off. Why not?

"It's about time, boy. Your friend's already aware he lost. I win, I, Joe Chill, will win forever. So take it off." Tear it off? He does. Takes the cockscomb hat off. Hair's green underneath. The hat is off. And it does nothing, until he smiles.


	18. Chapter 18: Joe Chill Wins

Chapter Eighteen: Joe Chill Wins

"That took you long enough, didn't it?" the Joker asks, with his creepy smile. "Dad?"

That's right. Eat your heart out, Manoj. Joker's been Joe Chill's son, all along. He didn't know. All he knew. All he knew was, he was born on a monday. He remembers the crib. J.C., jr. Joseph Chill Junior. Or, JCjr. Joker. That's where the name comes from.

But, your dad goes to jail. All because some knob in a bat costume had to beat up your dad's boss in a museum. It was a costume party, but, just goes to show, bats are bad. They say hematophages won't feed on humans, but they sure will. Give you rabies, too. That's not a myth. Mom can't work, she dies. The knob's kname – Thomas Wayne. He's the one you gotta kill.

How, then, to go about it. We all know the Joker is Joe Chill's son. What, you thought they were the same person? You've been watching too many movies. Batman hates both, and how is a Raven like a writing desk? So you see a shrink, "Doctor, doctor".

Doctor Teach. Don't worry, he won't molest you, he prefers girls. You tell him the plan. Mad hatter, give me a hat. Brainwash me, so I can live a Second Life®. I'll be a good guy, most of the time. Make money for you, but still fight crime. So I can befriend that other famous crimefighter, the Bat. Nobody knows who I am, not even me. Being on the margins of civilized society has its perks, huh? I'll kill him, I'll kill his mother and his father, nobody will know, not even me. As long as I have the hat on, I'll be the Joker, not Joe Junior. So I get close to Bruce. I help him out, help out his dad and his friends. Get them all together, so when you get out, and you WILL get out, dad, you can get them all;

So of course the hatter says, I can do it, mister Chill. It's not going to be easy. I'll need to try it out. Try it in Peoria, on a girl. A young girl, if you get my drift. Sure, whatever, she can study under you, too. "What, a college girl? That's too old for me". Scumbag. She ended up killing you. Revenge. Death to the rapist. Justice. But, of course, she was screwed up for life. He made her the Joker, but once the hat came off, she loved the Joker. She's a killer, moth.

Killer Moth.

The hat's finished, Joker puts it on. Now, Bruce, do you feel the cold? So cold it gets into your bones? You can't move? You can't tear it off. Tear it off, Bruce, tear it off tear it off tear it off.

Time passes and he gets famous. Everybody loves the man who never smiles, never takes off his cockscomb hat – he is a Joker, after all. Fights crime, befriends Bruces, marries redheads. I didn't know I was a bad guy. The love was real. But it was all in my head. All in my hat.

This is all in your head, Bruce. You would know if you tore it off. Joe Chill won. Is this what you wanted?

Is it? Is? It? Motherfucker won't tear it off.

So, Joe and Joe Junior need to keep going. It's, uh, not clobbering...breaking time. Mrs. Chill is there too. Junior's wife, daddy's little Mothra, remember? She's got a hammer, he's got a marotte. And everyone you love is made of ice.

WHO do I kill FIRST? Baby Doll, you were just like me, in your cute straw hat and your Wodehouse accent. Now you're glitter. Smash.

You don't like that, huh, Bruce? She was just a child, now she's dead. I guess this evil DOESN'T have standards. Your own damn fault, you won't tear it off. Uncle Bob's a great guy, right? Not really, if you ask the right people. There's a documentary about him. And, you know, the other guy, the one no one talks about. He's dead, now. Died in ninety eight. But I just broke a nice ice sculpture.

Tear it off, won't you? Chicken? I'm not afraid of chickens. I'm afraid of Bats. They're bad luck.

Aunt Agatha was a mistake. That's why I'm killing her right this very instance. Chill, will you. My wife's in it too.

Pamela Isley. My green angel. I guess I did love you, but that's when I was the hat. Besides, you're a plan, and guess what we do with plants? We tear them off. Not you, bruce.

Dad's breaking Alfred like Jor-El breaks his crystal garden, not that that ever happened. Ice breaks easy. It won't melt. Things were going great for you, Brucester.

Now I kill Gordon's girl. The pretty redhead. I was thinking, shoot her in the spine. I hate women, anyway. Another child I killed. And you can't do shit. What if I kill your son? Oops, I just did.

Killer Moth made her wings flap. She flew up until she saw Kathy. Bruce's wife, remember. Oh, how you loved her, from the moment you first saw her, all those years ago (It was like seven hours!). And now she's dead. Ha! I've got someone who loves me, and you don't. Because you won't tear it off. I just want to help you.

I don't even give a shit about her. It's not like we're a happy couple, it's all a big joke. Why won't you move? Because my dad froze you? I thought you were already cool. Well, there's one happy couple left here. They sent my dad to jail, now it's time for the Chills to get their revenge.

It's your own damn fault, you won't tear it off.

Smash.

Smash.

Now your parents are dead.

Then he tore it off.


	19. Chapter 19: He Tore it Off

Chapter Nineteen: He Tore It Off

Batman's eyes opened, making him at first unaware of his surroundings, then relieved by the dull gray stone walls of the Bat-Cave. His hands were moving on instinct, something he knew he had to do for the last eight hours. Pulling the Black Mercy out of his chest.

The parasite had lodged itself on it the previous day. It wasn't the first time he had been lost in that perfect world. But, this time, he took the creature away by himself. No help from Robin. Or from Superman.

He gets up, and feels once again comfortable to be in his old familiar costume. In his old familiar cave. He's not Deadshot, he's never been Deadshot. Man-Bat living in the cave? That was all nonsense. A bad dream. It started as a good dream.

He remembered all of it. The Black Mercy, the alien plant that attached itself to a host, and sucked his life away, all the while leaving the host in a nebulous dream of paradise. A flower he was given as a gift, by Superman. His best friend. Clark, the alien, the one who was already flying back down to meet him.

"I heard you move." Clark said, casually, floating a few inches off the ground. He made it look easy, eyeballing the plant and squinting. A red ray of heat shoots out, as fast as light itself, to burn the thing before it tried to jump someone else. Didn't kill it. Those things are hard to kill.

"If I was a bit more distracted, Clark, I'd forget you hear everything." Batman said, looking down. Meaning, of course, he wasn't distracted. Clark's his best friend, but it's best to be prepared. For everything.

That was the point, after all, with the Black Mercy. He had to know what it was like. One more thing to add to his knowledge database. Should it happen again, he would know it.

"So, how was it?" Clark asked, storing the plant safely in the unbreakable Kryptonian glass wherein he kept him, in his alien museum, surrounded by snow. "You got rid of it faster than I did."

"It's not a competition." said Batman, slowly walking towards the elevator. "It was… it was what it was."

"I understand, Bruce." said Superman, flying next to his friend. God and mortal, but they both knew they were equal. "I felt it too."

"My parents were alive." said Batman. "That's what I wanted. My father fought off the man who murdered them."

"And you?" asked Clark.

"I was...happy. At first, at least. I had married to Kate Kane." said Batman. "Or, Kathy Kane – Batwoman. It all sounds so ridiculous."

"Not to me." said Superman. "It makes sense your subconscious would bring you together with women with whom you have so much in common."

Batman moved back to the surface. It took so long. During the dream, everything happened instantly. One second, they're in their suburban home, with Dick Grayson as their adopted son. The next, the whole city's frozen by Mister Freeze's gun.

"Penguin was a friend. His father never died, thanks to my own." said Batman "Really makes you think. Catwoman… the Riddler, Poison Ivy, Scarecrow. All heroes."

Of course, Batman knew, it didn't make sense. It wasn't supposed to. Catwoman was a woman, not a cat, she wouldn't turn good in exchange for a saucer of milk. It'd make things easier for him if she did.

"All heroes?" asked Superman. He didn't want to say the name, but Batman knew what he meant.

"No. Not him." said Batman, grimacing. "Not in the end, anyway. The Joker was the one who made me realize, it wasn't real. He's the one who destroyed my world."

Batman called it his world, but he knew it was a myth. An illusion.

"Joker's giving you trouble, no matter what, huh?" asked Superman. Not really the time to smile, but the big blue boy scout can't really control it.

"Yes...but, he reminded me to let go off the dream. He made me wake up." answered Batman. He looked out of the window. It felt strange, wearing the cowl during daylight. He pulled it off.

"He wanted to keep the fight going in this world, I suppose." said Superman.

"He was reminding me." Batman concluded "That if I didn't wake up, he' be walking free up here."

Makes sense.

"Still, hardest thing I've ever had to do." said Superman.

"Hardest for me, too." Bruce looked out "But needed. At least, it helped me clear up a lot. I didn't get to say goodbye to my parents. But, I suppose I never will. Closure wouldn't help."

"I figured it could help you." said Superman.

"It could help me. But, it's not about me. It's about the city." said Batman. Superman didn't need to add – it's about the world.

"Thank you, Clark." said Batman, already turning back inside.

"Happy birthday, Bruce." Said Clark, before flying off.

End Fanfic


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